


Written In The Stars

by SilverCrane



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate universe- body swap, Genderfluid Character, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Panic Attacks, Violence, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21736240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverCrane/pseuds/SilverCrane
Summary: "Nonna, tell us the story!""Yeah Nonna, the one about the girl and the boy where they fall in looove.""You idiot, how's she gonna know which story you're talkin' about?""The one with the string, Nonna, tell us about the one with the string, where they switch bodies!""Antonio, calm down, no need to get so antsy.""But Nonna! We wanna hear the story!""Well, if you three insist. It began a long time ago, before me, or my Nonna, or her Nonna.""Wow! That long ago?""Shuddup, Angelo, she's tellin' a story!""Boys! Calm down!""Yeah boys, calm down!""Sofia, you're not helping...""It doesn't matter! Continue, continue!""There was a girl, and her name was Stella, and the whole town said she had been blessed by the stars..."
Relationships: Oscar Delancey/Racetrack Higgins (Past)
Comments: 33
Kudos: 34





	1. Sunday, December 15th, 20XX

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! I'm back! This is based on the movie Your Name, which you should TOTALLY go watch if you haven't already!

The first thing Racetrack Higgins notices when he wakes up is the splatter of stars across the ceiling, glowing dimly against the darkness of the room. They're old and fading, and he can see spots where some have fallen, so it's obvious they've been there a while.

But they hadn't been there when Race went to bed last night.

He panics for a second, reaching to his left for his comfort toy, a stuffed elephant. His panic only rises when his hand hits air, and he shoots up straight.

This was wrong. His walls weren't supposed to be this color. His sheets were wrong too- all stars and planets instead of the neat polka-dots Albert had gotten him as a gag gift on his fifteenth birthday. And since when did he own a telescope?

He's shaken out of his thoughts by a knock at the door, another sign something is wrong. None of his family members knew how to knock. In fact, manners were pretty much non-existent with his family.

"Spot, hon, you up yet?" A warm voice calls from the other side of the door. Race freezes, because he certainly wasn't this Spot person, but he certainly was in their room. He leaps to his feet, getting tangled in the dark blue comforter. His knee throbs angrily as it connects with the wooden floor, and the door flies open.

"Spot?" The woman in the doorway asks, worry creasing her brow. She makes eye contact with Race and he stiffens, ready for the barrage of questions.

Instead she rushes over, gently helping Race to his feet. "Spot, honey, are you all right?" Her eyes dart up and down, taking in the way Race refuses to put weight on his left leg. She lowers her voice, leaning in. "Is it your knee?"

Race blinks in surprise. "Uh- yeah." His voice is lower than usual, and it shocks him. So many things were wrong. Who was this lady, and why did she think his name was Spot?

"You can stay home today, if you'd like." The woman offers, voice low and sympathetic. "I know Jack promised to take you on his hike today, but I'm sure you guys can raincheck." She ruffles Race's hair, gently guiding him back into the bed that isn't his. "I'll go make breakfast." She places a kiss on his cheeck and exits, leaving Race staring dumbfounded at the closed door.

This wasn't right. He stares at his hands, three shades darker and two sizes too large. This wasn't right. He runs a hand through his hair, only to be met with shorn sides. A bit falls into his face, and he notices the color. Black.

This wasn't right.

He quickly gets to his feet, wincing at the pain in his left knee. He makes it to the door with little difficulty, but pauses, afraid to open it. 

What would be out there? 

He takes a deep breath, turning the knob.

A normal hallway greets him. The floors are wood, just like in the room behind him. Across from him is a door, and by glancing down the hallway, he can tell there are more, probably five or six. The door directly across from him is labeled, a dry erase board pinned to the door.

_Smalls_ It reads. _She/her_ Blinking, Race turns around. The door behind him also has a plaque, a small wooden sign you could probably find at Target. 

_Spot_ It labels. Race rubs his eyes. This was ridiculous. Who was this Spot, and why was Race here, and how come no one thought anything was wrong?

"Ah! Spot!" A voice calls from the end of the hallway, and Race whirls around. There's a boy, probably a year or two older than Race. His skin is tan, and his blue eyes remind Race of Albert's when he has a good joke to tell. The boy jogs over, and Race realizes he's several inches taller than him.

"Heard you weren't feeling well." The boy grimaces. Race has to tilt his head up to look at him, something that irks him. "Sorry you can't join me and Kath on our hike. Next week, alright?"

He's looking at Race expectantly and Race doesn't know what to say. "Uh- yeah." God, was that the only thing he could say? He musters a small smile. "Thanks, Jack."

Jack- that was his name, right? The woman from before had mentioned it, so it must be him- blinks at Race, and for a second Race panics.

"Well, someone's in a good mood today!" Jack grins, clapping a hand onto Race's shoulder, before quickly removing it. "Sorry." He suddenly looks sheepish.

Race gives him a confused look, but Jack breezes past him, heading down the stairs he hadn't noticed before. "Anyways, don't work yourself too hard, okay Spottie? You're still healing, remember." 

Race frowns, about to ask a few questions, but the boy is gone, and he feels even more lost than before. There's a growing dread in his stomach. He needs to find a mirror. Now.

Thankfully, the door at the end of the hallway is open, and Race can see a sink. He makes his way there, as quickly as his stupid knee lets him. He pushes open the door, gripping the smooth ceramic sink with both hands. Taking a deep breath, he lifts his head, meeting his own gaze in the glass.

Or really- someone else's gaze. Because it's not Race who stares back at him, but a boy who is definitely not him and who Race is starting to think is Spot.

"Fuck." He mumbles, unable to tear his eyes away. Spot is handsome, Race'll give him that. His arms are strong, and he has an intense face that's alltogether ruined by it's fearful expression, courtesy of Race.

Race squints at the mirror, watching as Spot's chocolate brown eyes narrow into slits. He opens his mouth, watching as Spot mirrors him, revealing rows of pearly white teeth that Race envies. He makes a face, drawing his cheeks apart with both hands. 

"Whats gotten into you today?" Race jumps at the voice, turning to see a girl a few years younger than him standing in front of him. Comparing the girl and the person in the mirror, it would be no large leap to assume that this was his- Spot's sister.

"Uh- nothin'." Race covers, wincing at the sound of his voice. How would Spot say that? Based on what he had gathered, Spot was serious. Quiet. Probably someone who wouldn't be making faces at himself in the mirror.

"Miss Medda wanted me to tell you breakfast's ready. She was gonna bring it up here but you seem well enough to walk so she wants you downstairs." The girl relays, straightening her skirt.

"Right." Race manages, clearing his throat. Talk like Spot. Talk like Spot. "I'll be right down."

The girl nods, before skipping away, probably downstairs. Race takes a relieved breath, rubbing his face with his hands. Thank God that was over. He mutters a quick prayer, before realizing that he'd probably have to change before going downstairs. Unless Spot usually went around in sweatpants and a tank top. 

Shit. Changing. In someone else's body. He hesitates, fiddling with the edge of the tank top he was wearing. Better to do this in Spot's room, he decides, hurrying back.

A quick survey of Spot's closet determines three things.

One- Spot really, really likes the color red. Nearly all his clothes are some shade of it, and it makes Race nauseous.

Two- Spot really, really likes sleeveless tops, something Race would never dare to put on, not with his skinny spaghetti arms.

Three- Spot is an absolute fashion disaster. None of his clothes are nice looking. They all look like something a street urchin from the 1900's would wear.

Race lets out an exasperated sigh, grabbing the only two matching clothes. A nicer looking shirt (red, of course, and sleeveless), and a nice pair of black jeans.

Now for the hard part. Race fiddles with the tank top again, swallowing hard. It wasn't that he hadn't seen guys naked- he'd seen plenty of guys naked- but it just seemed like a violation of Spot's privacy. Race exhales, making certain the door is locked, before pulling the tank top off in one swoop. Like pulling off a bandaid.

He quickly pulls the red shirt over his head, mussing up his hair once its on. That was the easy part. He quickly repeats the process with his pants, only reaching a snag when the sweatpants get caught on his foot, sending him stumbling into his bed. His knee throbs angrily at him. Stupid knee. At least Spot was fully clothed now, and Race didn't have to worry about that.

He makes his way downstairs, using the handrail as a crutch. The house is bigger than he expected, probably bigger than his own. He follows the sound of talking, making his way to the dining room.

He freezes when he enters, a wave of sound hitting him. It was like this in his house, too, but it was rare that everyone sat together to eat. Here, with Spot's family, the table was full, except for a seat which Spot assumed was his, nestled between two other boys.

"Hey! Spot's up!" One shouts, waving a spoon at Spot. The other, eerily identical to the first, stands up on his chair, waving furiously at Spot.

"Mike, sit down!" The woman from before- Miss Medda, hadn't the girl called her?- chides. "And Ike, put that spoon down before you hit someone in the eye!"

The boys frown, but settle down. "Yes, Miss Medda." They chorus. 

Race takes his seat between them, quietly taking in the room. 

Jack is on the other side of Mike, shoveling eggs into his mouth at an alarming speed. His eyes are glued to his phone, and he types frantically with one hand. Next to him is the girl, who must be Smalls, because she's the only girl here (aside from Miss Medda). She eats at a much slower rate, eyes focused on Race. He flinches away when he meets her gaze, eyes darting to the next seat. It's a booster seat, and Miss Medda is spoonfeeding the occupant, a young boy with dark curls. A baby, who Race wouldn't have to worry about.

"Hey Spot, why aren't you eatin'?" Mike asks around a spoonful of applesauce. 

"Yeah Spot, ain't you hungry?" Ike comments, before gulping down his orange juice in one go. He slams his cup down on the table, turning to Miss Medda. "I'm done eatin', can me 'n Mike go play now?"

Mike quickly finishes his applesauce, giving Miss Medda puppy dog eyes. Their attention off Race, he turns his gaze to the food. 

There was quite a lot of food, and Race couldn't pick. It had been so long since he'd had anything other than plain cheerios, or even since he'd eaten anything for breakfast. He finally settles for some scrambled eggs and a single slice of bacon, his mouth watering in anticipation.

He eats slowly, savoring each bite as if it were his last. He almost doesn't notice Jack leaving, muttering something about Katherine and the hike. Mike and Ike leave soon after too, promising to be safe. Smalls finishes after a while, and she takes the twins' plates with her when she goes.

And then it's just him and Miss Medda. "I didn't know you liked eggs." She says after a few moments of silence. Race freezes. Did Spot not like eggs? 

"Uhm- yeah." He shoves another forkful into his mouth, hoping to avoid a conversation.

"I'm just-" He pauses at the sound of Miss Medda's voice, way too solemn for his liking. "I feel like I don't know anything about you at all." She folds her hands on the table, and Race doesn't know what to say.

She continues. "I know you said you needed some time before opening up, and I get that. I just want you to know that I'm here for you, and I'm here for Smalls too." She offers him a small smile, which Race returns, although he feels fake just making the motions.

"Uh- thanks." He says quickly, pushing himself to his feet. "I'm sorry- I just need some time-"

Miss Medda also rises to her feet, nodding. "Of course, but if you ever need anything..." 

Race nods, swallowing the tight feeling in his throat. He quickly makes his way back upstairs, shutting Spot's door loudly behind him.

What the fuck was that? He heaves a shaky breath, sliding to the ground. Now was not the right time for a panic attack, he reminded himself. 

Who was Spot, and why was Race in his body? Did he even exist? Did _Race_ even exist in the first place? Or was it all just one big dream? Maybe he was dreaming now. He gives himself an experimental slap across his face. Nope, not a dream. What if he was stuck like this? 

No. He shakes all those thoughts from his head, focus in on steadying his breathing. He pushes himself off the floor, making his way to Spot's desk. He opens the first journal he finds, apparently a science journal, if the looping notes inside are any proof. Spot has nice handwriting, he notes in the back of his head.

_Hi! My name is Racetrack Higgins, and I'm currently in your body!_ He scribbles, his own handwriting looking like chicken scratch next to Spot's neat loops. _I'm going to assume you're in my body too! Lucky you. I happen to have a wonderful body, as I'm certain you've noticed by now! I don't know why this is happening, before you ask. I also don't know if this'll happen again, or even if I'll return to my body ever. Sorry for using your science notebook, btw! :)_ He finishes his note with a few hearts and smiley faces, releasing a shaky breath. This was hell, but he couldn't let it show.

He leaves the notebook open on Spot's desk, for the owner to read when they switched back. If they switched back. If Spot even existed in the first place. He curls up under Spot's blanket, sorely missing his elephant.

A knock on the door jerks him from his thoughts, and the light streaming in from his window tells him some time has past. He remembers the person at the door and clears his throat. "Come in." He calls, still quite unused to Spot's deeper voice.

The door opens to an unfamiliar boy, dark hair streaked with green.

"Hey Spot!" He greets, quietly closing the door behind him. "Miss Medda told me you weren't feeling well. Is it your knee?" 

Race shifts on his bed, mind in panic mode. "Uh- yeah." Who the hell was this kid? A friend? Another family member he hadn't met yet? A boyfriend?

The boy seems to take Race's movement as a sign to sit down next to him, seemingly not noticing how Race tenses. "Here. Gimme." He makes a grabbing gesture with his hands.

"Sorry, what?" 

The boy tilts his head, raising his eyebrows. "What, you don't want a famous Kasprzak massage? My family's famous, y'know. Gimme your leg."

Race hesitantly puts his leg onto the boy's lap, shivering slightly when his cold hands touch his knee. For the first time, Race notices the scar there. He doesn't get much of a chance to study it before the boy's hands are covering it, gently massaging the spot, sending a shiver down Race's spine. 

"Hey Spottie, have you started the Bunsen essay yet?" The boy asks, gently working his way down Race's leg. Race tenses, but the boy continues, as if used to silence. "I'm kinda stumped, and of course Davey isn't any help. He just tells me to stop falling asleep in class, but you know how hard it is for me!" He whines, lower lip jutting out in a pout. Race nods his head, if only to pretend to be listening.

"I'm actually failing his class right now, which is no big surprise. Yesterday he actually stopped me after class! He was all like 'Elmer, I know my class is hard for you, but if you need help, just see me after school.'" The boy- Elmer- lowers his voice in an impression of his teacher. "And I was like- dude! Okay! I'm sorry I keep falling asleep!" Elmer continues his story, occasionally waving his hand around. For the most part though, it stays on Race's knee, relieving the pain he'd been feeling all morning.

Race takes the moment to study Elmer, the boy's attention on his knee. There are three freckles bridging his nose he hadn't noticed before, and his brown eyes remind Race of the caramel treats Albert loves to eat. He's certainly cute, which brings up the thought he'd had earlier. 

Did Spot have a boyfriend? And was it Elmer? Elmer certainly seemed comfortable around him, more so than Spot's family did. It didn't help that Elmer's hand was slowly making it's way up his thigh.

"Spot?" Elmer's voice drags him from his thoughts, and he looks up, blinking. "You feeling better?" He asks. Race cant help comparing him to a puppy, with the way his eyes seemed to get impossibly bigger.

Answer like a boyfriend. He reminds himself. "Always with you around." He replies, flashing Elmer a (hopefully) charismatic grin.

Elmer's cheeks flush, and he breaks eye contact. "Oh." He squeaks, hands stilling on Race's knee. "Are you sure you're feeling okay? You're not acting like yourself..." 

Race mentally curses himself. Not a boyfriend, then. "Sorry, I didn't sleep well." He excuses. Would Spot laugh here? He laughs, a low chuckle that surprised him, and apparently also Elmer.

"I- should go." Elmer stands quickly, worry visible in his brown eyes. "Sleep well, Spot." 

As soon as he disappears, Race buries his face in his hands. "Shit." He mumbles. How was it possible to mess something up so badly? Spot was pretty much the exact opposite of him, and he hated it. He hated every bit of it, all the pretending to be someone he obviously wasn't.

He flops down onto the bed, staring up at the glowing stars. "Hey stars." He challenges. "What did I do to deserve this?" The stars, of course, don't answer. "Fuck." He groans, rolling over.

Today was the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to ask any questions you might have! Hope you have a wonderful day :D


	2. Sunday, December 15th, 20XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! It's me again! Surprise! :D Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

The sound of a door slamming open wakes Spot from his sleep, and he immediately jerks upright, searching for the source of the sound. There's a young girl in his doorway, a bright pink hairbrush in her hand.

"Antonio asino, hai i capelli sulla mia spazzola! Ti odio!" She shouts, vaulting the brush directly into Spot's face before slamming the door closed.

He's left sitting there, a stinging bruise forming on his face and many questions on the tip of his tongue.

Mainly- who the FUCK was that, and what was she doing in his house? He groans, flopping back onto his bed and rolling over, only to completely fall off the bed.

"The fuck?" He mumbles, sitting up. It's then he realizes that the bed isn't actually his. The sheets are polka dotted, and the bed is way too small to be his. Maybe it's a little kid's? He looks around the room, trying to get a grasp on where the fuck he is.

There are pictures pinned up along the wall, and Spot picks himself up off the floor to study them. His knee doesn't hurt as much as usual, one small blessing in this huge fucking mess.

He picks up one of the photos, squinting hard at it. For some reason, everything looks blurry, and it takes his eyes longer than usual to focus.

The picture is of two boys, probably around twelve. The one on the left is holding a large fish, a wide grin stretching across his face. His companion, red-headed and freckle-faced, pouts, a much smaller fish hanging from his fishing line. Spot doesn't recognize either of them, a frown pulling across his face.

For the first time, he notices a heavy feeling in his mouth. He runs a tongue over his teeth, nearly biting it when he realizes what the feeling was. 

Since when did he have braces?

Spotting a mirror across the room, he rushes over, fully prepared to deck whoever was pulling this elaborate prank. Maybe Sniper, the little twerp. That was totally something she'd do.

However, all thoughts of revenge leave his head when he catches sight of his reflection.

The boy staring back at him is skinny and tall, two things Spot is not. His long sleeved sweater falls off one shoulder, and Spot isn't entirely certain he's wearing shorts, the sweater too long for him to tell. His blond hair is fluffy, sticking out all over. And he has braces.

Spot gently closes his mouth, instead choosing to bare his teeth at the reflection. The reflection copies him, metal glinting in the light.

"What the fuck." He whispers, running a hand through his hair. It's softer than it looks, and Spot is momentarily distracted, running his fingers through it again.

"No- pull yourself together, Spot." He slaps his cheeks, wincing at the resulting sting. His reflection does the same thing, and Spot finally has to come to terms with the fact that he is currently inside of someone else's body, and that someone else is probably inside of his.

"Okay. First course of action." He takes a deep breath, looking around. Anything that could tell him about whoever he was would be useful. He spots a phone charging on a bedside table. "Bingo."

He quickly picks it up, shoulders slumping when he realizes that it's password protected. "Fuck." He tries one-two-three, just in case, but nothing happens. He's about to give up when the phone vibrates, nearly causing Spot to fling it across the room.

_Canada-  
We still up for the skatepark today?_

_Canada-  
If u cancel now im stealing your kneecaps _

Spot reads these messages twice before groaning. That wasn't helpful at all! Except now he had plans to go to a skatepark. And Spot Conlon didn't skate.

His door flings open again and he flinches, dropping his phone.

"Antonio! You're watching Bia today!" An older woman shouts, before shoving a young girl into his room. She gives Spot a curious look, thumb stuck in her mouth.

"Wait- what?" He chokes out, but it's too late. The woman is gone, leaving him alone with Bia. At least now he had a name for his host. Antonio. 

"Unca Tony?" Bia's voice startles his from his thoughts. "We gonna play dolls?"

Spot panics, leaping to his feet. There was no way he could watch over this girl AND go to the skatepark, all without knowing who he even was. "Uh-" He's saved from having to answer by his stomach growling loudly. "We have to eat first, okay?"

Bia nods, sticking her thumb back into her mouth. "But first, Unca Tony's gotta change, so could you please wait outside for a few seconds?" He asks, pushing Bia out of his room. He waits for her answering nod before closing the door, exhaling loudly.

A quick search of Antonio's closet later, Spot has decided on a red tee shirt and a pair of jeans. He quickly pulls off his- Antonio's sweater, taking a second to study Antonio in the mirror. His skin is paler in the places the sun can't reach, and there's a thin scar on his stomach. He gently traces it. It's quite old, much older than the one Spot sported on his knee, and much smaller too. He wonders briefly where Antonio had gotten the scar.

He's pulled out of his thoughts by a loud knocking at the door, and he quickly pulls his clothes on, adding a hoodie after second thought. "Coming!" He calls, quickly opening the door.

The boy standing there is familiar, although it takes Spot a second to place him as the boy from the photograph. His hair has grown out, but his freckles are the same, splattered across his face as if someone spilled a bucket of red paint.

"Sup, Racer!" He greets, and it takes Spot a second before he realizes the boy is talking to him. 

"Sup." He returns, scratching his arm uncomfortably. 

"Sup!" Echoes Bia, clinging tightly to Spot's pants.

The freckled boy looks down, a wide grin splitting his face. "Is Bia joining us today?" He asks, leaning down to ruffle her hair.

"Hi, Unca Albet!" Bia greets, and the boy- Albert- grins again.

"Yeah." Spot answers shortly. He didn't want to do this. He wanted to crawl under his covers and hide until he returned to his body.

"Hey. What's with the long face?" Albert's face appears in front of him, causing Spot to flinch. "Wait- where are your glasses dude?"

Ah. That was why his vision was so blurry. Damn stupid Antonio and his stupid teeth and his stupid eyes. He searches for a few seconds before finding Antonio's glasses next to his phone. He grabs that too, just in case.

"You eat yet?" Albert asks, grabbing Spot by the wrist and dragging him out of Antonio's room. He doesn't seem to notice how Spot stiffens beneath his touch.

"No." He answers, twisting his hand out of Albert's grasp in what he hoped was a casual manner. "You?"

Albert shrugs. "Had a banana this morning. Here, I brought you one too." He offers said banana to Spot, having seemingly pulled it out of nowhere. Or maybe he had it the whole time and Spot just never noticed.

Spot takes the banana silently, following Albert through the winding corridors of Antonio's house. It was certainly smaller than Spot's own, but to him it felt like a labyrinth.

"Mornin', Mister Higgins!" Albert greets, waving at a middle aged man they pass. "I'm borrowing your son and granddaughter, if that's okay." 

Mister Higgins grunts, not even looking up from his phone as they pass. He waves a dismissive hand at them, but Albert doesn't seem to take offense, so Spot concludes that this was a normal occurrence.

"Good morning, Sofia!" Albert greets as they enter a living room. "Morning Angelo!" The two people sitting on a couch look up, conversation coming to a halt. Spot recognizes the woman as the one who abandoned Bia with him, probably her mother. Making her Antonio's sister.

She offers Spot a small smile. "Thanks for taking care of Bia for me today. Sharon called in sick and I need to leave for work in a few minutes."

Spot gives her a curt not, unsure of what else to say. Angelo, next to Sofia, gives him a smile.

"Morning, Tony. Nice to see you up before noon." He jokes, and Spot forces a smile.

"Well, we're heading out!" Albert grabs Spot's arm again, pulling him out of the living room. "Dude, what's wrong with you today?" He asks, once they're out of earshot.

Spot pulls his arm away, stiffening. Was he acting differently than how Antonio acted? "Nothin'." He crosses his arms tightly over his chest, giving Albert his best glare.

"Okay, dude, that's bullshit. You're all serious and sulky and quiet. What, your dog die or something?"

"I already told you, it's nothing." Spot snaps. He knows his anger is probably getting the best of him, but it wasn't as if he wanted to be in this situation. Quite frankly, everything about today sucked.

"Dude, I'm your best friend! Is this about Oscar?" Albert's annoyed look fades to one of concern, and Spot is about to ask who the hell Oscar is when he gets interrupted by a voice.

"Albert!" A dark blur shoots past him, vaulting itself at Albert, who deftly catches it, spinning around a few times. 

"Romeo! My man!" Albert grins. The blur reveals itself to be a young boy, probably a few years younger than Spot himself. 

"Are you two going to the skatepark?" Romeo asks, still clinging to Albert like a koala.

Albert nods, ruffling the boy's hair. "Yup! Wanna come with?"

Romeo's face brightens, but then immediately dulls. "I can't, I promised nanay I'd help her test out her new recipe."

Spot hums under his breath, and Albert makes a face. "Well, tell us if it comes out good!" He says, ruffling Romeo's hair again. "C'mon, Racetrack, let's go."

Romeo sadly untangles himself from Albert, heading back in the direction Spot assumes the kitchen is in. Albert grabs his arm again, much to Spot's charaign. He manages to break free once they're outside, when Albert bends down to grab two skateboards.

"Dude, what's up with you?" Albert asks again, quirking his eyebrow at Spot. "You've been fidgety and you don't let me touch you. If you want me to leave you alone, just say so."

Spot scowls, massaging his thigh out of habit. In Race's body, he didn't have to worry about his weak knee. "I already said, I'm fine." He snaps, taking one of the skateboards away from Albert a little too forcefully.

"You sure? 'Cause I'm pretty sure that's my skateboard you just grabbed." Albert points out, holding the skateboard out to Spot. Spot growls, shoving the one he was holding into Albert's chest.

"Fuck off." He grumbles, ignoring Albert's scandalized reaction. He stomps off in a random direction, skateboard tucked under his arm.

"Wait- Race, that's the wrong way!" Albert calls. Spot ignores him, picking up his pace. "Race, where are you going?"

Soon he's running, and Spot had almost forgotten how exhilarating it felt to have the wind in his face, to feel the pavement beneath his feet. Race's body is nice and lithe, and he lives up to his nickname. Spot feels faster than ever, and he loves it.

He only stops when he's out of breath and completely lost, tall trees towering all around him. He's in a park, he knows that, but where? "Guess we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto." He mutters under his breath, cracking a small smile at his own joke. 

Maybe he was going insane. Maybe this was all a dream, or a hallucination. He certainly felt real enough though, and Spot wasn't imaginative enough to construct an entire life out of nothing. 

He's startled out of his thoughts by his- Race's phone going off in his pocket. He quickly fishes it out, squinting his eyes at the screen.

_Oscar-  
Heard you ran away from Albert_

_Oscar- serves him right, the twat_

_Oscar- where are you?_

Spot hesitates. Who the hell was Oscar? Albert had brought the name up earlier. His fingers hover above the notifications. He almost drops the phone when it buzzes for a fourth time, yet another text from the mysterious Oscar.

_Oscar-  
Babe? _

Spot's grip tightens on Race's phone. A boyfriend. That made sense. He swallows roughly, leaning against the nearest tree. He carefully opens the notification, cursing how his fingers shake.

_park_ He quickly types, hoping that would be enough to satisfy him. At which park though, he couldn't say, completely lost in this new town. Race's phone is silent though, and Spot breathes a sigh of relief, slumping to the ground.

Race's skateboard clatters to the ground and Spot puts a foot on it to keep it from rolling away, lazily shifting it back and forth.

He closes his eyes, listening to the birds. There weren't as many as back at home, seeing as Race lived in a more urban area than Spot. In the back of his head, he wonders if Race can see the stars. He'd have to check, later on. He wonders if Race was the type to stargaze. Maybe not. Spot certainly was.

"Tony!" Someone shouts, dragging Spot from his thoughts. A boy is running towards him, arm waving furiously. "I found you!" He pants, coming to a stop a few feet away from him. "Can't believe you ran away from Albert, you crazy bastard." He boy laughs.

Spot freezes, unsure of what to say. This was probably Oscar. Race's boyfriend. Race's boyfriend who he probably kissed. And Spot was Race- or at least was in his body.

"Tonio?" Oscar tilts his head, straightening up. "Are you okay?"

Spot offers him a tight smile. "Totally fine." He makes to stand, but Oscar stops him, grip tight against Spot's arm.

"You sure? 'Cause you totally ditched Albert, and he said you were acting strange." 

Spot stiffens, shaking Oscar's hand off his arm. "I said I'm fine." He pulls his knees to his chest.

Oscar sighs, sitting down next to Spot. "Look- is it because I said all those things yesterday? Because I'm sorry, you know how I get sometimes." He lays a soft hand on Spot's arm, and it's all Spot can do to not shrug it off.

"It wasn't you." Spot answers shortly. Talk like Race. Talk like Race. "I've just been- stressed." He manages. Did Race get stressed? Of course he got stressed, everyone got stressed. But would he say it?

"I get that." Oscar smiles, blue eyes crinkling. "Y'know, you can always talk to me." He trails a finger up Spot's arm, making him shiver. "Always." He repeats, putting pressure on the word, as if it had some secret meaning.

Spot manages a stiff nod, rocking Race's skateboard under his foot. "Yeah. I know."

They fall into an uncomfortable silence, and Spot can't help but notice how Oscar keeps glancing at him, although Spot himself keeps his head down, picking at the grass.

"You remember the first time we met?" He interrupts after a while, and Spot freezes, unwilling to pull his eyes from the ground. He gives a noncommittal grunt, hoping Oscar would continue talking. To Spot's relief, he does.

"It was here, remember? In this park, by the swings. You called me a fuckwad, remember?"

Spot winces at that. Who exactly was this Race guy, who insults people he just met? "Yeah."

Oscar laughs a little, throwing an arm around Spot's shoulder. "Good times, right, Tony?" 

Spot nods, stiff as a rod. Oscar was way closer than he wanted and it was freaking Spot out because this was Race's boyfriend, whom he was expected to kiss.

Fuck his luck. Why is he even in this situation? It wasn't like he did anything bad in his life, ever.

"Tony?" The voice snaps him from his thoughts and Oscar raises an eyebrow at him. 

"I- I need to go." He stammers, pushing Oscar off of him in his rush to get to his feet. 

"Wait- where are you going?" He calls after him, but Spot doesn't even bother responding, fists clenched tight at his sides.

Today was the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Have a wonderful day and rest of week! :)))


	3. Monday, December 16th, 20XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D Guess who's back! It's me, I hope you enjoy this chapter!!

Spot wakes up to the sound of an alarm. He groans, pushing his face deeper onto his pillow. If he suffocated here, he wouldn't have to listen to his alarm, which was not supposed to be going off on a Sunday morning.

Sadly, he doesn't suffocate, which means his alarm is still going off, which means he needs to turn it off. He swats his left arm out, effectively knocking it off his side table, along with his pill bottle.

The alarm keeps blaring.

Spot groans again, more of a high-pitched whine than a groan, and pushes his face deeper into the pillows. He tries to hit the off button on his alarm, fingers just barely grazing the top. With a huff, he gets up, slamming his foot down onto the clock. It stops, finally, and he falls back into bed.

Stupid alarm, going off on a Sunday morning when he had been hoping to sleep in.

He gets maybe five more minutes of sleep before there's a loud knocking on the door.

"Spot! Wake up! Time for school!" Jack calls, voice slightly muffled by the wood.

"It's Sunday!" Spot shouts into his pillow, pulling the sides up to cover his ears. There's silence from Jack, before he knocks again. 

"Spot, c'mon, one more tardy and that's detention!"

And of course now he can't sleep anymore, so he gets up anyways, grabbing the first shirt he could find and quickly changing. His knee throbs angrily at him, and he scowls, pulling on his knee brace.

"Spot!" Jack shouts, knocking again.

"I'm comin', I'm comin'." He grumbles, carefully counting out his pills. He swallows them without water, wincing at the bitter flavor.

Jack gives him an exasperated look when he finally opens the door, handing him a slice of toast. "Jesus, what is up with you today? 'S your leg still hurting?" He asks, moving on to Smalls' door.

Spot gives him a curious look, sticking the toast into his mouth. "No more than usual." He mumbles around a mouthful of bread. "Had a strange dream, though." He makes his way downstairs, grabbing his phone from the family charging station.

"Yeah? Tell me 'bout it." Jack follows him, slinging his school bag over his shoulder.

Spot instinctively checks the time on his phone. "I dunno man, it was-" He freezes. Checks his phone again.

_Monday, December 16th_

"Shit." He mumbles. "It's Monday."

Jack gives him a curious look. "Yeah, after Sunday comes Monday. You feeling okay?"

Spot shakes his head. "But yesterday was Saturday."

"I think you took too many painkillers, Spottie." Smalls comments from the top of the stairs, a smirk on her face. 

Spot frowns, shoving his phone into his pocket. "Shuddup."

Smalls doesn't comment, silently handing Spot his backpack. He takes it gratefully, still puzzling this strange turn of events. Was it possible to forget a whole day? Maybe he'd slept the entire time.

"Bye, Ma!" Jack shouts over his shoulder as they leave. Miss Medda bids them farewell from the kitchen.

"I call shotgun!" Smalls chirps, practically vaulting herself down the pathway. Jack follows at a much slower pace, Spot lagging behind.

Monday. It was Monday, which meant he'd missed Sunday, which meant he'd missed Jack's hike.

"Hey Jack." Jack glances up, still busy unlocking his car. "How was the hike yesterday?"

Jack's face lights up. "It was great! I really wish you could've come, Kath brought me to this beautiful spot! You could see forever from the top-" 

Spot scowls, blocking out the rest of Jack's story. He slides into the backseat of Jack's car, making sure to buckle his seatbelt. 

"-and there was this waterfall on the way down, and it was like a scene from a movie!" Jack's still talking, and Spot can see Smalls rolling her eyes out of the corner of his.

"Oh! Spot!" Jack suddenly interrupts his own rant, turning around in his seat to look at Spot. "We saw some deer, made me think of you. Too bad you weren't feeling well, right?"

Spot gives a noncommittal grunt, blocking out Jack's voice again. He unlocks his phone, quickly scanning through his recently opened apps.

Nothing.

Nothing to explain his sudden memory loss.

_"Dude, what's wrong with you today?"_

Spot blinks, looking up. "What?"

Smalls turns her head, frowning at him. "What?" She echoes, a confused look on her face.

"I thought you said- Nevermind." He quickly shakes away the thought. The voice definitely wasn't Smalls', nor was it one he knew. Yet he couldn't shake the familiarity.

_"Tony? Are you okay?"_

It's a different voice this time, and again, Spot's head jerks up. 

Both Smalls and Jack turn to look at him, concern etched onto their faces.

"Spot?" Smalls questions, and for a second it doesn't register that she's talking to him.

"I'm fine." Jack's car pulls to a stop, and he yanks his door open, shrugging his backpack on. "I'll see you at lunch."

He doesn't see so much as sense the concerned glance they exchange, but he ignores the feeling, quickly making his way to English.

"Yo! Spot!" Henry greets as soon as Spot enters the room. Spot settles into his seat next to the boy, pulling out his English binder. "Hey, did you do the Chem homework? I was gonna ask Davey, but you know how he is." 

Spot frowns, twisting a pencil between his fingers. "Yeah, but I lent it to Elmer." He raises his voice to reach said boy, sitting across the room. "Hey, Elmer!"

Elmer flinches, eyes darting up to meet Spot's. His face turns red, and he quickly averts his eyes.

"Woah. What's up with him?" Henry asks, leaning backwards in his chair. "You guys have a fight or something?"

Spot shakes his head, shrugging. "Dunno. Last time I saw him he was-" He trails off. He and Elmer had planned to meet on Sunday. Spot didn't remember Sunday.

"Hey Henry?" He asks, turning to the boy next to him. "Did I text you yesterday?"

"Hm? No- I don't think so? Why?" 

"I just- nevermind. I'm going to talk to Elmer." He stands up, carefully picking his way to Elmer's desk.

"Hey." Elmer jumps at his voice, nearly dropping his pencil. "What's up with-"

"I need to go to the bathroom!" Elmer interrupts, practically jumping out of his chair. He pushes past Spot, leaving Spot even more confused than before.

"Smooth, Conlon." Henry remarks dryly. "What'd you do to the poor kid?"

"I- I don't remember." Spot stammers, earning a confused look from Henry. 

Elmer continues to ignore him through out first and second periods, and all through lunch. Spot, in turn, ignores Jack and Smalls, who eventually give up on talking to him and instead turn to Davey for help.

"Hey." Spot doesn't have to turn to recognize the voice, but he does anyways, shooting Davey a scowl. The taller boy doesn't seem frightened, already used to it.

"Whaddya want?"

Davey frowns, pushing his glasses up his nose. He says something, but it doesn't register in Spot's brain, too busy focused on Davey's glasses and the memory that was dancing just out of reach.

 _"Wait- where are your glasses, dude?"_

Spot scrunches up his nose. This time, the voice is accompanied by a face, pale and freckled, contorted in a confused expression. And Spot pauses, briefly wondering where his glasses were.

"Spot?" The voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and Davey's face comes into view, dark eyebrows drawn up in concern. His hand hovers inches above Spot's shoulder, hesitant as always.

"Don't touch me." He growls, pushing Davey's hand away. He stands up- abandoning his lunch- and stalks to the one place in school he knew he wouldn't be found.

The frigid air bites his cheeks, but he ignores it, ducking behind the cafeteria.

While Pulitzer Academy was famous for a lot of things, their garden wasn't one of them.

Mostly abandoned, it had started a few years ago as an attempt to get the students more involved in gardening. The project had flopped, but the space remained there, along with a few benches, shaded by the trees that had grown there.

It's there that Spot goes, ignoring the benches in favor of tucking himself into the curve of a tree. The bark is cool against his back, but comforting. He lowers his head between his knees, clenching his eyes shut.

Remember. _ Remember. _

Why was this happening to him? These flashes of memories that weren't his, and yet felt so familiar?

The tolling of the bell jerks him from his thoughts, signifying the end of lunch. Spot stands on shaky legs, shrugging his backpack over his shoulder. His next period was the one he was dreading the most, because that was Chemistry, and Chemistry meant sitting next to Elmer, and sitting next to Elmer meant having Elmer ignore him the entire time, similar to how he'd been ignoring Spot all day.

Except when he finally arrives at the class, Elmer is settled into a corner completely opposite of their usual seats.

Spot huffs, slipping into his seat. He pulls out his notebook, quickly flipping through to find a blank page.

Something catches his eye and he freezes, nearly dropping the page. He flips back, and there it is.

Handwriting that is not his own, that hadn't been there last time he'd had the class. Handwriting that takes a while to decipher.

 _Hi! My name is Racetrack Higgins, and I'm currently in your body! I'm going to assume you're in my body too! Lucky you. I happen to have a wonderful body, as I'm certain you've noticed by now! I don't know why this is happening, before you ask. I also don't know if this'll happen again, or even if I'll return to my body ever. Sorry for using your science notebook, btw! :)_ The note is followed by a barrage of faces and hearts, but before Spot has the chance to comprehend any of it, his attention is pulled to another note, scribbled in the corner.

_P.S. Sorry for flirting with your friend!! I thought he was your boyfriend!! ;P_

Spot drops the book, jerking to his feet. It's only then that he feels the eyes of the class on him, and his face heats up.

"I- I gotta go." He stammers, ignoring the teachers protests. He pushes his way out, into the hall.

And then he starts running.

His knee screams at him, but even louder than his knee were the memories.

 _Race._ Race, who had been in Spot's body while Spot had been in his. Race, with his thousands of siblings and his stupid boyfriend who Spot almost had to kiss, and who probably was angry at Race for that. 

Shit.

His knee finally gives out and he collapses, unsurprised to find himself back in the garden.

His mother had loved gardening, before she died.

Spot unclenches his hand, notebook falling to the ground. It wasn't all that surprising that he'd brought it with him. He stares at Race's note again, trying to calm himself.

Race didn't know what was happening. That much was obvious, by the way he wrote. Race didn't know if this would happen again, but Spot was fairly certain it would. Because if it wasn't a dream, what was the point of swapping them for one day?

He tilts his head back, staring up at the cloudless sky. 

"Why are you doing this to me?" He asks, cold air stinging his cheeks.

The sky, of course, doesn't answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :)


	4. Monday, December 16th, 20XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm back! Surprise! I hope you didn't miss me TOO much lol :)

Race wakes up halfway off the bed, arms and legs tangled in his bedsheets. He lets out a low groan, letting his lower body fall to the floor. He lays there a few moments, staring up at his bare ceiling.

"No stars, huh?" He mumbles, tucking both arms under his head. In his dream, there had been lots of stars, tracing constellations across the ceiling.

He rolls over, grimacing at the darkness pressing in outside his window. He doesn't need to look at his bedside clock to know that it's nowhere near the time he needs to get up.

He finally stands, stretching two lanky arms above his head. Maybe Albert was awake, although he found it unlikely.

He flops back onto bed, reaching across for his phone. The brightness of the screen makes him flinch, but he manages to get it unlocked, sparing a brief glance at the time.

_3:48 AM_

He groans, burying his face in his pillow. Great. Today was one of _those_ days. 

He lifts his head up, resting his chin on his pillow and typing with both hands.

_Albo, you up?_

He waits for a few seconds, before burying his face into his pillow again. _God_ he was bored. He scrolls through his contacts a few times, names and photos blurring together.

 _BUTTons, Canada, Nerd, Tomtom, Tweetiebird,_ and there, at the very bottom of his list, _Oscar._ Plain, unchanged. His finger hovers over the name for a few seconds before he decides against it, instead clicking on _Nerd._

 _Kenny are you up?_ He types quickly, moving one hand to blindly fumble around for his glasses. Miraculously, he finds them, and they're in their rightful place by the time Kenny responds, as Race knew he would.

_Nerd-  
What's up? _

_Nerd-  
Can't sleep? _

Race rolls his eyes. Kenny knew exactly what was going on. He had endured enough sleepless nights with Race to understand that Racetrack Higgins' fucked up sleep schedule was just another one of his many quirks.

Pushing himself to a sitting position, Race quickly scoops his comfort stuffed animal into his lap, petting her worn head gently. Instead if replying to Kenny's question, he simply responds with one of his own.

 _Know anything about dreams in which you switch bodies?_ Race tilts his head backwards, staring up at the ceiling. It felt as if something was missing- probably something from his dream- but he couldn't quite remember what.

_Nerd-  
Seen a few movies with that premise. Like Freaky Friday type stuff. _

Race hums under his breath. That wasn't exactly helpful for him.

_Nothing irl?_

_About dreams or something._

Kenny's reply is negative, and he huffs, pulling his pillow to his face. He resists the urge to scream, mainly because of the fact that his sister is in the room next door, and she needs to get up early for work. Instead, he settles for a low groan, pushing his face deeper into the pillow in a way that makes his glasses dig into his nose.

Perhaps if he were a productive student, he'd take this time to work on some assignments, or catch up on homework.

Instead, he flops onto his stomach and opens up his Netflix app, scrolling through the options. He settles on rewatching The Office again, for the fourty-third time.

He makes it to the fifth episode before his phone rings, Albert's name displayed across the top. He answers, flopping onto his back. 

"Yo."

 _"Dude, where are you? I rang your doorbell like twenty times. You're gonna be late for school."_

Race bolts upright in his bed, scrambling to look out the window. As he said, Albert is waiting at the front door, an annoyed look on his face. He gestures angrily at Race with the hand his phone is in, his other hand busy keeping his bike upright.

"Yeah, I'll be right down." He mumbles, hanging up before Albert begins to yell at him.

He quickly pulls off his shirt, tossing it onto his bed. Opening his closet, he notices his only red shirt missing. Scowling slightly, he instead grabs a light blue one, along with a pair of jeans.

Romeo is waiting in the living room when he comes out of his room, a bowl of cereal perched precariously on one of his knees. His attention is focused on the TV screen, but he looks up when Race comes in.

"Someone's late." He smirks, voice muffled by the metal spoon.

"You know your mom doesn't like it when you eat on the sofa." Race retorts, which gets Romeo to shut up.

"Have fun at school." Romeo calls as Race grabs his backpack, rushing out the door.

"Here I was hoping we'd be early for once." Albert sighs in lieu of a greeting. 

"Nice to see you too." Race mumbles, unhooking his bike from the family bike rack. He pockets the chain. "I bet if we hurry we could still make it on time." He offers, and Albert sighs.

"I'm not racing you, Tony." He says in a tired voice.

Race grins, kicking the bike support out. "On your marks..."

"Race." Albert glares at him.

"Get set!"

"Race!"

"Gooooooo!!" Race screams, kicking of from the ground and pedaling as fast as he could. Albert, despite his admonitions, is pedaling just as furiously.

As Race predicted, they make it to school before the gates close, and he quickly locks his bike down before rushing to his first period. Albert follows, a scowl on his face.

"I told you I wouldn't race you, Racer."

"You're just sore you lost." Race retorts, sticking his tongue out.

Albert doesn't respond to that, which Race counts as an absolute win. They slide into first period just as the bell rings. Race ignores the dirty look the teacher gives him, making his way to his seat.

"Tempting fate as usual, I see." A dry voice comments from behind him, and Race twists around in his chair to give Blink a brilliant grin.

"You know me, Kid, I like to live life on the edge." He jokes, kicking his feet up onto his desk. Albert, settling into the seat in front of him, looks like he's about to say something, but the teacher cuts him off before he can. Race turns his attention to the front.

The teacher is covering material for the test, and Race should probably be listening, but it's AP Stats and AP Stats is his strongest class. So instead, he pulls out his phone, opening up Flappy Bird.

He makes it halfway through the period before his phone is confiscated, which means he needs to find a new way to amuse himself. He pulls out his Stats notebook, flipping all the way to the back. He freezes when he sees the writing, half cursive and taking up the whole page.

_WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?_

Race frowns, turning in his seat to face Blink.

"Hey Kid, you recognize this handwriting?" He asks, showing the page to Blink.

Blink gives the paper a single glance before returning to his own work, not even bothering to respond. Race takes that as a no, turning back to the front. He leans over his desk, nudging Albert.

"Al. Al, does this look familiar to you?" He whispers, a little too loudly for the classroom setting.

"Racer, shut up. You're gonna get kicked out of class." 

Race whines, collapsing back into his chair. He frowns at the paper, doodling little faces around the edges.

_WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?_

_Who the fuck are YOU?_ Race scribbles under the offending cursive, his own chicken scratch paling in comparison. The paper, of course, doesn't respond, because the paper is not a sentient being, and the paper is not the one asking who the fuck he is.

Race sighs, slumping over his desk. The teacher blabs on, her monotone voice making all the words blend together. He bounces his leg, if only to keep awake. He closes his eyes, stars dancing across his eyelids. They tug at his memory, and he swallows the feeling of deja vu, instead trying to remember where he'd seen those stars before.

He hums under his breath- a nonsensical tune he'd probably picked up from Albert- and focuses on his dream.

It had been a nice one, albeit a bit confusing. He had been buff and handsome, but not as himself.

 _"Spot, hon, are you okay?"_ A woman's voice asks, and Race jerks his head up, eyes snapping open.

"Glad to see you've joined us, Mister Higgins." His teacher drowls, her thin eyebrows nearly meeting her hairline. Race grimaces in response, slowly rising to his feet.

"Actually, Ms. Kirkpatrick, I gotta go." He gestures to the door. "Clinic visit. Can I have my phone back?" And he knows he's cutting it close because this is the third time he's used the clinic excuse in this class, but his heart is racing and Albert is giving him funny looks and if he doesn't get out now he's going to combust.

His teacher gives an exasperated sigh and hands over his phone. "If you weren't feeling well, you should've told me at the beginning of class."

Race gives her a weak smile, scooping his bag off the ground and bolting out the door.

As soon as he's out, he checks the date, cursing at the realization. It wasn't as if he hadn't skipped days before, but this was different. 

Because of Spot.

He opens up Messenger, scrolling through his most recent texts. There are the ones from Kenny from earlier in the morning, but beneath that-

He had texted two people yesterday, and yet he had no recollection of ever doing so.

_Because of Spot._

One was Albert, of course, because Albert and Race texted every day. But the other one-

Race curses under his breath, running a hand through his blond curls. Of _fucking_ course one of the two (2) people he had texted was Oscar, who he'd promised not to text until they got their shit together, and Race certainly wasn't doing so hot in that aspect.

And yet he'd somehow texted Oscar, and possibly spent _time_ with Oscar, because of _fucking Spot._

He groans, sliding down against the wall. It was all coming back now- Spot's house, with Spot's family and Spot's friend. (Who Race almost kissed) 

Spot's stars, speckled across the ceiling. 

The slanty handwriting that he now recognized from the notebook he'd left his message in.

While he had been in Spot's body, Spot had been in his, and Race _really_ should've seen that coming.

"Fuck." He expresses eloquently.

"Fuck what?" A voice asks, and he jerks his head up, only to meet Kenny's startled gaze. "Racer? You okay?"

Race groans again, slumping his shoulders. Kenny grimaces, sliding down to sit next to him.

"Race? Is something wrong?" He moves as if to rest a hand on Race's shoulder but freezes, hesitant hand hovering. Race erases that hesitation, leaning his body into Kenny's shoulder.

"Let's say, theoretically-" Race starts, lifting his head a little to look at Kenny.

"Theoretically. Of course." Kenny says, wrapping his arm around Race.

Race scrunches his face at Kenny. "Theoretically, you switched bodies with someone? And they switched bodies with you? What would you do?"

Kenny hums, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "That's a tough one. Are they cute? Theoretically." 

Race hums under his breath. "I wouldn't necessarily say cute." His mind flashes to Spot's handsome face and thick muscles, and his face heats up.

"Well, Google dot com says you have an inferiority complex." Kenny smirks, scrolling through his phone with one hand. "That and you're searching for your 'true self'." He encompasses the words in air quotes. "Theoretically." He tags on.

"Fun." Race sighs, running a thumb over the text messages he had sent yesterday. Obviously if this was going to happen again, they needed to set some ground rules. "Thanks Kenny. You're really helpful."

Kenny grins, shooting Race a thumbs up. "Anything for the excuse to skip class. Plus Albert wanted me to check on you, the worrywart." He stands up, stretching his arms. "Well- first period's almost done. If I were you, I'd get off the floor before I get trampled."

Race nods absentmindedly, pulling his notebook out of his bag. "Yeah, in a minute." He says, clicking his pen.

"I gotta write something real quick."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Race was actually much harder to write than I anticipated, which is why this chapter took a while. Thank you so much for being patient!  
> If you want to contact me elsewhere, my Tumblr is silvercrane14


	5. Tuesday, December 17th, 20XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry I've been so inactive! T-T I got SUPER sick and then I was writer blocked! But I'm back now!!  
> I hope you enjoy! :D

_Racetrack Higgins' rules for being himself:_

_1\. Try hard in class, but not too hard, or else you won't look cool._

_2\. Refer to dancing as 'doncing' when around Tommy Boy to make him pissed._

_3\. Be gay, do crimes_

_4\. Be gay, do crimes_

_5\. Be gay, do crimes_

_6\. Don't let anyone know you're not actually me_

Spot wakes up to the sound of a phone ringing, which doesn't make sense because his phone should be downstairs, and he's had his phone on vibrate since he got it. He yawns, feeling around in the direction of the noise. He finally finds the offending device just as it goes quiet, and he begrudgingly pops an eye open.

He's in Race's room, which makes sense. The name displayed on the caller ID is _Albert_ , a stark contrast to Race's usual naming methods. Didn't Albert's name use to be Canada?

Shaking all thoughts from his head, he quickly presses the call button, holding the phone to his ear. "Yo."

 _"Don't 'yo' me you asshole! Do you have any idea what time it is? It's literally Tuesday and you've already made me late once I won't stand for it this time!"_ Albert's heated voice comes through the line. _"If you're not down here in five minutes I'm leaving without you."_ With that, he hangs up, leaving Spot a little more than confused.

He spares a glance at the bedside clock, paling when he notices what time it is. He scrambles to Race's closet, pulling on the first shirt he finds. He quickly shoves Race's glasses on, scanning Race's desk for anything he might need for school.

A notebook catches his eye, mainly because of the fact that it has his name on it. Not Race's, but Spot's. Inside is a note, along with a map and a few drawings.

_Hi Spot! If you're reading this, it means we switched back. Surprise surprise! I don't know how long this will go on, but until it stops, you need to be me, and I need to be you! Here are a few rules-_

_Racetrack Higgins' rules for being himself:_

Spot wrinkles his nose. He has to read over the rules twice before he finally convinces himself that no, he's _not_ hallucinating, and Race actually wrote that. He scoffs before continuing on to the next part of the note.

_Anyways, it's a Tuesday, and therefore you need to go to school! I've included my school schedule along with the rooms they're in and additional notes on the next page._

_Now if you've gotten this far, you're probably late for school! Go meet Albert downstairs, then bike to school. Please  don't mess this up!! ;) _

Spot glances at the clock again before cursing under his breath. He was severely late, a point further annunciated by his- Race's phone ringing again. He answers it without looking, tucking it under his head and swinging his bag over his shoulder.

"I'm going, don't rush me Albert." He snaps at the phone.

 _"Yeah, that's what you always say, asshole."_ Albert responds, annoyance clear in his voice.

Spot hangs up, making his way downstairs. The TV is on, a teenage boy sitting in front of it. What was his name? Mercutio- Hamlet- Romeo, that was it- Romeo glances up when he enters, eyebrows rising.

"Someone's late~" He says in a sing-song voice, swinging a metal spoon in Spot's direction.

"Yeah, nice to see you- bye." Spot responds hurriedly, rushing out the door.

It's a lot warmer than he expected outside, and he can't make out any mountains in the distance, which makes him believe he is _not_ in New York, which kinda sucks. Not that he particularly liked New York. Or disliked New York. It was just meh.

"Look who finally decided to show up." Albert snarks, shoving a helmet into Spot's chest. "C'mon, let's get going."

Ah right. The bikes. Spot takes the helmet, buckling it onto his head and quickly mounting- Jesus that's wobbly- Race's bike. Its been a few years since he last biked, but at least he remembers enough to not fall over.

"What are you waiting around for? Let's go!" Albert calls over his shoulder, already biking away. Spot huffs a short breath and follows him.

They make it to school on time and Spot breathes a sigh of relief. He quickly chains up Race's bike before digging out the notebook and quickly flipping to the class schedule.

 _Today is a B day, which means your first period is English! Just follow Albert, he's also in there._ The note is accompanied by a very badly drawn- but still recognizable- Albert, his hand raised up in greeting. Spot hides a snort behind his hand, ignoring the curious look Albert gives him.

"Whatcha lookin' at, Racer?" Albert asks, slowing his pace to walk beside Spot. He quickly closes the notebook, shoving it back into his backpack.

"I'm- studying."

Albert scoffs. "Studyin' my ass." He turns a sharp corner before opening a door. "Mr. I never study and still ace every test I get."

Spot frowns, scrambling after Albert. As they enter the room, the bell rings, eerily similar to the one at Spot's own school. Albert slips into a seat, and Spot takes the seat behind him, stealthily opening up the notebook onto his lap.

 _English is a pretty easy class as long as you're focused, so just pay attention and you'll do great! A few of my friends are in English with me, namely Albert, Buttons, and Finch._ Each name is accompanied by a small doodle. Spot lifts his head up and scans the room, spotting Finch- auburn hair and lanky frame- and Buttons, who's cream hijab matches the flowers doodled around her name. They are engaged in a heated conversation, Buttons waving her hands emotionally. 

Spot winces, returning to the notebook. It would be better to study ahead, so he would be prepared. He rummages in Race's backpack, pulling out all the items labeled English. It was very thoughtful of Race to label them, and Spot feels a twinge of guilt. He hadn't organized his things so neatly, and Race was probably struggling right now.

Class begins, and Spot tries his best to focus. The class seems to be English 3, which Spot took sophomore year, so he doesn't feel the need to pay too much attention. He cracks open his guidebook, flipping to the next page.

 _After English is World History. You can just follow Buttons for that. Kenny's also in that class, and I sit behind him._ Again, a small doodle of Buttons, followed by one of a boy with glasses, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. _Kenny is super into pop culture so he might be able to help us. I already asked him for help, so don't be surprised!!_

Spot huffs out a sigh. Leave it to Race to spill the beans. He hasn't clarified exactly how much Kenny knew, so he'd have to be careful with that.

_After World History is lunch, which we usually eat in Carter's room. Just follow Buttons and Kenny, it's pretty hard to miss!_

"Yo, Racer." Albert taps his pencil on Spot's desk, catching his attention. "What'd you get for number four?"

Spot blinks down at his worksheet, quickly reading the question. "Uh.... B?" He guesses, scratching the side of his head.

Albert fixes him with a long look before turning back to the front. "Hey Buttons!" He calls. "What'd you get for four?"

Spot sighs, going back to his notebook.

_After lunch is dance!! I really hope you're ready for this, but if you don't think you can do it, tell the teacher you don't feel good. But please PLEASE try. Albert and Tommy are in that class with me!_

Shit. That's not good. What type of school had _dance_ as a class?

His thoughts are interrupted by the bell ringing, and he quickly pushes himself to his feet. He packs up, keeping his eyes glued on Buttons, seeing as she was his way out. She gets up and he follows, Race's long legs easily keeping up.

"So Racer, did you do the History homework?" Buttons asks, swinging her hands at her sides. "I had a bit of trouble on the back, but I think I got all the correct answers!"

Spot bites his lip. "Uh- yeah?" He says, more of a question than a statement. Buttons doesn't seem to notice his hesitation, and continues talking. Spot tunes her out, mind wandering back to Race. He was probably in Spot's body at the moment. Was he doing well?

"Race!" Buttons' voice snaps him out of his thoughts, and her turns to find her a few feet behind him. "You missed the door." She says, failing to hide her amused smile.

"Sorry." Spot mumbles, feeling his cheeks heat up. "I was thinking."

"Wow. Rare." 

Spot scoffs, following her into the room. He takes the seat closest to the door, pulling out his notebook.

He's reading through Race's schedule again when a pile of books is suddenly slammed onto his desk. He jumps, gaze flying up to meet blue eyes hidden behind thin-wired frames.

"So I looked into what you said, and I visited the local library." The boy starts talking, completely skipping the greeting part of a conversation. "They didn't have many books, but here are the ones that mention dreaming of body swapping." He pulls out another pile, adding it to the previous one. "These are the ones that just mention body swapping and these-" He pulls out a few movies, adding them too. The stack wobbles precariously. "-are the movies that I found."

Spot blinks a few times. "Uh- thanks?" He offers. The boy grins, a smug look on his face.

"You'll probably want to look over them yourself, but I took the liberty to read a few. Most of them are fiction, but I found one of real cases." He pulls a small brown book from the pile. "All had continuous dreams of swapping bodies with someone. They say that the dreams just stop after a while. Have you had any more?"

It takes Spot a few minutes to process what the boy- Kenny, according to Race's notes- was saying. "Oh- yeah. Every night." He carefully halves the pile, setting it down gently on his desk. "Thanks Kenny, I'll look over these."

Kenny grins, shooting Spot a pair of finger guns. "No problemo, mi amigo." He says in a horrible American accent that makes Spot wince. 

He spends the rest of class flipping through the books Kenny found. Most are fiction, as Kenny said, and one psychology book tells him that he needs to get laid, which makes his search seem kind of useless.

He finally reaches the brown book, which honestly seems more like a journal than a book. Each page has an anecdote from a different person detailing a string of strange dreams they had.

_The dreams started when I was sixteen. They only lasted a month, but every other night I would become someone else. The details are fuzzy, but I remember feeling as if they were a real person, only separated by distance. I remember one time I decided to call them-_

Spot freezes. Call them. He could call Race.

Quickly, he scrambles for Race's phone, unlocking it with his finger print. He opens the phone app, dialing an all-too-familiar number. It rings once, twice, three times, and then-

_click_

_"Hello?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you have any questions or requests, my Tumblr is silvercrane14! I love talking to people!  
> Have a wonderful day!


	6. Tuesday, December 17th, 20XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry for not uploading. I've been VERY busy! Hope you enjoy this chapter though!

_Race- If you're reading this, it means we switched back. I'm entrusting you to NOT mess this up, so PLEASE behave. I will not hesitate to make your life a living hell.  
-Spot Conlon _

Race wakes up and immidiately he's aware that he's in Spot's body.

For one, he can actually see, and what he sees are stars, splattered across the ceiling.

For two, there's a soft knocking at the door, and then Jack's voice.

"Spot, it's time to wake up!"

"I'll be there in a second!" Race calls back, slowly sitting up. His knee throbs, reminding him of why he DIDN'T like being Spot.

On the bedside table is a small folded piece of paper, which Race quickly unfolds, eyes darting across the paper.

_Race- If you're reading this, it means we switched back. I'm entrusting you to NOT mess this up, so PLEASE behave. I will not hesitate to make your life a living hell.  
-Spot Conlon _

Race shivers, gently putting down the paper. Spot was not someone he wanted to cross, which meant he had to be on his best behavior today.

Next to the note is a bottle of pills. Spot's loopy handwriting decorates the top, instructing him to take two in the morning. Underneath the bottle is a knee brace, which he gratefully pulls over his knee, finger tracing over the large scar there. He reminds himself to ask Spot what happened when he gets the chance.

"Spot!" Jack calls, knocking again. "Mom made eggs!"

"Coming!" Race replies, moving to the wardrobe. The brace certainly helps with the pain, and he grins, bouncing a bit. This could be bearable.

Now changed, he heads outside. The note on Smalls' door, across the hall, has changed, now reading _he/him._ Race makes a note in the back of his head before heading downstairs.

He unplugs Spot's phone from the charging rack, scrolling through his unread messages. There aren't that many, and Race scoffs. Of course Spot was anti-social. Just his luck.

"Spot!" Smalls' voice comes from the kitchen, and he tucks Spot's phone into his pocket.

"Coming!" He makes his way into the kitchen, placing a kiss on Medda's cheek before realizing that's probably not something Spot would do. "Uh- mornin'." He ignores Medda's confused look, taking the plate in her hands and sitting in Spot's seat at the table.

Across the table, Smalls smirks.

"Shuddup." Race mumbles, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth.

"I didn't say anything!" Smalls sings, a hand pressed to his chest as if he was offended Race even dared to suggest that he was making fun of him.

"Sure."

Jack slides into the spot next to Smalls, his phone in his hand. "C'mon boys, no arguing. I'd like to get to school on time today."

"Why, to see your girlfriend?" Smalls teases, elbowing Jack in the side. The older boy scowls, quickly tucking his phone into his pocket.

"Maybe."

"Ha! I knew it!" Race chooses to ignore the rest of their conversation, quickly cleaning his plate.

"Thanks." He mumbles to Medda, placing his dirty dishes in the sink. She gives him a wide grin.

"Anything for you, sugar." He returns her smile before heading back upstairs. It feels nice, having a mother figure to take care of him, and Race's heart aches. He quickly shakes away the thought though, grabbing Spot's backpack and shuffling through it.

"Notebooks? Check. Pencil pouch? Check. Agenda? Who even uses these anymore?" He flips through the agenda, smiling faintly at Spot's neat handwriting. "Nerd."

"Spot!" Jack calls from behind his door, and Race jumps to his feet, quickly shoving everything into his bag.

"Be right there!" He slings his bag over one shoulder, bouncing down the stairs.

Jack is waiting at the bottom, keys in hand. He pauses when he sees Race, an incredulous look on his face.

"You're wearing that?" He asks. Race glances down at his outfit. It's not a particularly skimpy outfit or anything- far from it. In fact, he actually has sleeves for once.

"Yeah?"

Jack shrugs. "Your funeral."

Race ignores him, pushing his way out the door. The second he's outside, he realizes what Jack had meant.

"Fuck it's cold!" A gust of icy wind nearly knocks him over, and he quickly hurries back inside.

Jack smirks, shrugging on one of the heavy winter coats hanging on the coatrack. "Thought so."

Race pouts, embarrassed. He quickly finds Spot's coat- red, obviously- and puts it on. It smells like Spot, which is to be expected, but Race is surprised at how he already corresponds certain smells to Spot.

"Ready to go!" Smalls bounces down the stairs, interrupting Race's thought process.

"Let's hit the road, buckaroos." Jack grins, spinning his keys on his finger. Race hides a smile behind his hand, because who even says that anymore? He doesn't say anything though.

"Shotgun!" Smalls shouts, barreling past Race, almost knocking him over. Quickly righting himself, he resigns himself to the backseat, making sure to buckle his seatbelt.

He pulls out Spot's notebooks, flipping through them for any indication of what he should be doing. In his agenda, he finds a school schedule, along with a few notes in Spot's loopy handwriting.

_If you haven't noticed yet, Pulitzer Preparatory High School- my school- is a very competitive school in terms of grades. Please try not to let those fall. And DON'T talk to anyone, because you'll probably mess it up._

Race can't help but feel hurt at that last bit, and he frowns. Time to prove Spot wrong.

The car pulls to a stop, and Race jumps out, slinging Spot's bag over one shoulder. "See ya!" He calls back to Jack and Smalls, jogging to enter the school. Luckily, Spot had provided a map, and he quickly makes his way to Spot's first period.

A quick scan of the class determines that Race knows absolutely no one, and so he slides into the nearest seat, taking out a random notebook.

"Yo, Spottie!" A voice calls from behind him, and he freezes, turning around.

There's a boy leaning against a desk a few seats down, and he gives Spot a small wave before approaching.

"What's the matter? Are you avoiding me?" The boy teases. "Don't like being my deskmate anymore?"

"Uh-" Race quickly slides to his feet, making his way to where the boy had been sitting previously. "Just wanted to see how long it'd take you to notice." He covers.

The boy scoffs. "As if I'd forget about your annoying ass."

"Mister Coffman!" The teacher calls, and the boy winces. "Language!"

"Sorry!" He calls back, before turning to Race. "So. You fix things with Elmer?" 

Race internally groans at the reminder of his mistake. That was a good question, though. Did Spot manage to talk to him? "I dunno." He admits.

"Well, guess we'll find out!" The boy grins, waving at someone behind Race. "Elmer! Hey!"

"Henry!" Elmer greets, faltering when he sees Race. "Spot. Hey." His cheeks turn red, but at least he doesn't ignore Race, which is a plus. He takes the seat in front of Henry, turning around to look at the two.

"Did you catch the last episode of Chopped?" Henry asks, leaning his chair backwards. 

Elmer huffs a sigh, leaning his elbows forward on his desk. "Henry, not all of us are as into cooking as you are."

"But you saw it?"

"...Yeah, I saw it." 

Henry grins at that, triumph visible in his eyes. Race tunes out the rest of their conversation, flipping Spot's agenda open. At the front of the classroom, the teacher begins to take attendance.

"Amanda."

"Here!"

Race scowls down at the notebook in his lap. Nothing. Spot left him absolutely nothing, and it was really starting to piss Race off.

"Gale."

"Present."

He flips through the agenda again, stopping at the very back. Nothing. 

"Henry."

"Here!" The boy next to Race chirps, his hand shooting straight into the air.

How was Race supposed to pull off a convincing Spot if he didn't even know anything about him? This was ridiculous.

"Sean."

Heck, he barely even knew anything about Spot! 

"Sean!" 

Race lifts his head up out of the agenda, a frown crossing his face.

"What kinda bitch-ass name is Sean?" He asks, before realizing that everyone is staring at him. "Shit, that's MY bitch-ass name." He mumbles. Next to him, Henry wheezes out a laugh. Elmer seems to be holding back tears, and Race scowls at him.

"Yes, Mr. Conlon. That is your 'bitch-ass name'." The teacher says in a tired voice. "Can I continue my class?"

"Yeah, sorry." Race mumbles, burying his face in the agenda. God that was embarrassing.

Henry and Elmer walk him to his next class, and it's mostly silence, except for when Henry suddenly bursts into laughter, barely able to speak. Elmer usually follows shortly afterwards, and Race can't help but join them.

Once they arrive at their next class- drama, if the giant comedy and tragedy masks pinned above the door are any indication- Henry and Elmer proceed to tell everyone in the room about Race's little slip up. He can't bring himself to care. He really likes Spot's friends, would probably be their friends too, if he and Spot ever met up.

If he and Spot met up. God, that was a concept. Race didn't even know what continent he was on. How the hell would he find Spot?

"Yo! Spottie!" A voice calls, and he turns in time to catch Spot's younger brother as he launches himself into Race's arms.

"Smalls?" He asks incredulously.

"Yeah?" He responds, in the same tone of voice.

"Why're you here?"

Smalls scoffs, ruffling up Race's (Spot's?) hair. "This is my class too, dumbass." With that, he vaults out of Race's arms, hurrying back to whatever little corner he had come out of.

Race watches him go before sighing, dropping his bag in the big pile of bags in the back of the room. He takes a seat in the giant circle they're making, in between Henry and Elmer.

"Hello class!" The teacher greets, and for the first time, Race gets a good look at her. Spot's drama teacher is his mother. He chokes on his greeting when he realizes, doubling over in a fit of coughs.

"Oh, gosh, Spot, you okay?" Elmer asks, pounding on Race's back.

"No- yeah, I'm good. Carry on." He manages, clearing his throat a few times. Medda continues with her lesson, but all Race can focus on is her face.

He's startled out of his thoughts by a phone ringing, more so when Henry elbows him in the side.

"Dude, thats yours."

Before Race can move, Smalls leaps up from his seat, practically tackling Spot's bag.

"Papa's Pizzaria, what can I get for you?" He asks cheerfully, answering Spot's phone. "Hm- no, wrong number bye!" He hangs up, shoving the phone back into Spot's bag and returning to his spot in the circle.

No one else seems bothered by this, so Race lets it go, focusing back on the class.

At least, he tries. He can't help but think of Spot. What would he be like in person? They'd never actually met- only exchanged notes. Would he be nice? Would he even want to meet up?

His thoughts haunt him the rest of the day, and he can barely focus. During lunch, he manages to spill his food all over Henry's lap. He can't focus in class, and settles for recording it instead. He spends his third period scrolling on Spot's phone, searching for answers. He doesn't find much. He almost doesn't notice the bell ringing, only looking up when Henry sticks his hand in his face.

"Spot! I called you like- twelve times, you okay?"

Race quickly shuts off Spot's phone, offering Henry a small smile. "Yeah, I'm perfectly fine!"

Henry blinks at him. "Yeah no- you're totally sick. Did you eat something funny?" He places his hand on Race's forehead, as if to check his temperature.

"What? No!" He pushes Henry's hand away, scowling at him. Instantly, Henry brightens.

"There's the Spot I know! Now c'mon, your brother's been looking for you." He gestures behind himself, to where Jack hangs in the doorway, a scowl on his face.

"C'mon Little Red Spot, Mom's waiting." Race jumps to his feet, gathering his things and following Jack to his car. Smalls is already seated in the passengers seat, and he gives Race a cheery wave.

"Where's Mom?" Race asks, sliding into the backseat.

All the movement in the car stills, and Race glances up. Both Smalls and Jack are staring at him.

"What?" He asks, nervousness growing inside him.

Jack is the first to break the silence. "You called her mom!" He exclaims, giddy expression on his face. "Wow, I never thought I'd see the day! She's at home."

Smalls just turns back around, buckling his seatbelt. His expression is unreadable, and it makes Race nervous.

The car ride goes by quickly, filled with Jack's endless chatter. Race learns all about Jack's girlfriend, about his classes, and about how his friends almost blew up the Chemistry lab.

Once they arrive at Spot's house, Race makes his way into Spot's room, closing the door behind him. Once he's certain he's alone, he collapses onto Spot's bed, groaning loudly.

"Why the FUCK are you so difficult to be, Spot Conlon?" He asks, although he has no clue who it's directed at. Maybe himself. Maybe the stick-on stars, glowing dimly above his head. Neither of them answer him, and he sighs.

He's almost asleep when Spot's phone, still in his pocket, rings.

"Hello?" He greets sleepily, pressing the phone to his ear.

The person on the other end inhales sharply. _"Race?"_

That catches Race's attention, and he quickly sits upright. "Spot?"

The person on the other end laughs, and it's so weird to hear his own voice and yet not be speaking. _"Yeah, it's me."_

"Holy fuck. What the hell. Really, honestly, truly Spot?" He asks. "Sean Conlon?"

Spot, on the other side, gives an exasperated sigh. _"The one and only."_ He says, and Race can hear the sarcasm in his voice.

"Jesus Christ. I can't believe it." Race gives a small laugh. "Why is this happening to us?"

_"I don't know."_ Spot admits. _"But your friend- the nerd with the glasses- He gave me some books and shit. One is compiled of first-hand accounts of people who apparently went through the same thing. That's how I got the idea to call you."_

"That's wack." 

_"That's not all. They say it lasts for a month, and then suddenly stops. None of the people remember much about the other person, or even much about what happened. They feel like it's just one big dream."_

"Only a month, huh." Race flops back down on Spot's bed, eyes wandering around the room. "Doesn't seem like too much."

_"Race we're only three days in."_

"Fuck." Spot laughs, and Race scowls at the air. "Hey, don't laugh at me! This is a serious predicament."

_"Wow Race, that's a pretty big word."_ Spot says, and Race can hear the smile in his voice. It makes him happy, and he stands up, pacing around the room.

"How's my body?" He asks, letting his eyes wander. They land on a calendar, positioned over Spot's desk.

_"Absolutely awful."_ Spot remarks dryly. _"How do you you even survive?"_

Race scrunches his face up. "It's not that bad!"

_"Also. Why didn't you warn me about dance? I'm literally dying. How the fuck do you do this."_

Race can't help the laugh that escapes his lips. "You better get used to it, Spotty, because I have dance every day of the week."

Through the phone, Race can hear Spot's groan, and then the sound of springs creaking. _"I'm going to fucking die, Race."_ Spot says, voice muffled.

"You'll be fine." Race dismisses, studying Spot's calender. "What's happening the third?"

_"What?"_

"On your calender. The third is circled in red marker." He squints, trying to read Spot's curly handwriting. "The- alpha Hydras?"

_"Hydrids."_ Spot corrects. _"The AHY. That's when activity peaks. They're meteors. They say that this'll be the biggest year yet to watch them."_

"Uh-huh uh-huh. What about the 25th?" He asks, placing his finger on another date. This one isn't labeled at all, only circled in a deep blue. On the line, Spot goes silent. "Spot?"

_"I have to go."_ He says suddenly, and the line goes dead.

"What?" Race scowls. "Wait Spot-" He's already gone though, and Race sighs, flopping down on the bed. He still has so many questions that need answers. At least he'd gotten the chance to talk to Spot though.

Maybe things wouldn't be so bad after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, my Tumblr is silvercrane14. I hope you have a great day!


	7. Wednesday, December 25th, 20XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Hope you guys are staying safe and happy!  
> !!!!This chapter contains violence, degrading language, abuse, and mentions of a panic attack! Don't read if you are triggered by any of those things!

It takes Spot a week to get used to their new arrangement, which he counts as an accomplishment. In that week, he learns multiple things:

1\. Race is allergic to oranges

2\. The nearest hospital is approximately fifteen minutes by car 

3\. Race lives in Florida, which is an absolute hellhole

4\. All of Race's friends can be summed up in the Florida man meme

5\. The days alternate, which means every other day he's Race, and Race is him.

He goes to sleep in his own body on the 24th, hoping against all odds that when he wakes up the next day, he's in his own body.

His wishing fails, of course, and he wakes up to Whitney Huston's 'I Wanna Dance With Somebody' blaring into his ears at full volume.

He flails a hand out, effectively knocking Race's phone off his desk. Whitney doesn't stop singing, and Spot pushes his face into his pillow even more. He was glad Race had finally set an alarm, but _this?_

Whitney abruptly stops singing, and Spot lets out a sigh of relief. His relief is short lived though, because a second later Race's phone starts ringing.

"Jesus fucking christ!" Spot chucks his pillow into the opposite wall, quickly scooping up Race's phone and answering.

 _"Yo, Race! Come down!"_ Albert's cheerful voice through, and Spot groans. 

"Don't wanna." He mumbles, burying his face back into the covers. He already regrets chucking the pillow, since now he has nothing to hide his face in.

_"Race, we're gonna be late for school."_

"I'm not going." Spot sits up, sliding Race's glasses onto his face. "Go without me."

 _"Dude, your father's gonna kill you if you skip."_ Albert tells him, sounding not-at-all impressed. Spot doesn't respond, flopping back onto the bed and staring at the ceiling.

 _"... Fine, your funeral."_ Albert finally says, after a good minute of silence. _"Can I keep your skateboard?"_

Spot doesn't respond, hanging up the call. He stares blankly at Albert's contact info for a few seconds before placing the phone down and burying his face into the mattress. He _really_ regrets throwing his pillow. Race's glasses dig into his face, and he grimaces. He doesn't have the energy to do much more than pull the covers over his head.

He's about to fall back asleep when his door slams open.

"Tonio!" A voice shouts, and Spot blearily lifts his head. "You're late for school, hurry up!" One of Race's sisters- Sofia?- gives him a glare before slamming the door shut. 

Fucking fantastic. Spot pushes his covers off, swinging his legs over the side of Race's bed and reaching down, scooping up Race's phone. There are two new calls from _Albert_ , and three texts from _Oscar(DONT CALL)_ , who had been texting every single day. Spot deletes them all without a second thought, tucking the phone into his pocket.

-Except he doesn't have a pocket, because _fucking_ Racetrack Higgins wears booty shorts to sleep. Race's phone clatters to the floor, yet again.

After retrieving his phone and successfully changing into an outfit that DOES have pockets, he makes his way downstairs.

"Yo, Race!" Romeo calls from the kitchen, poking his head out when Spot enters the living room. "Want a waffle? I'm about to finish them!"

"Mffm." Spot mumbles, flopping onto the couch. Romeo apparently takes that as a yes, because a second later there's a plate on his head, with what Soot can only assume is a waffle on top of it.

"You know your dad's not gonna like it if you skip, right?" Romeo's voice comes from his left, and Spot can practically see his eyebrows creasing. "You're already late enough. He's gonna make you drop dance again."

When Spot doesn't respond, he gives a low sigh, removing the plate from Spot's head. "I could ask Nanay to give you a ride?"

Which is how Spot ends up in the backseat of Romeo's mom's car, already an hour late for school. Romeo and his mom chatter away in Tagalog, and Spot just drowns them out. He had learned the hard way that however proficient Spot himself was, Race was not. It was much easier to just keep his mouth shut in situations like these.

Not that he was in much of a mood to talk, anyways. Today was already shaping up to be an awful day, only made worse by the fact that he wasn't even in his own body.

Romeo's mom drops him off, and he mechanically makes his way to Race's second period. (World History! Horray!) He hands his pass to the teacher and slides into his seat, ignoring the concerned look he gets from Buttons. Albert, sitting behind him, kicks his chair when he sits down.

"Told you he wouldn't let you skip." He whispers, and Spot rolls his eyes.

He zones out all of second period, barely even registering when the bell rings. Albert has to kick his chair twice for him to snap out of it, and he can tell that's too much. Both Albert and Buttons are giving him funny looks, and Buttons has her arms crossed over her chest.

"Race, are you-" She's cut off by the teacher calling her name, and she shoots Spot one last look before darting off. Albert, on the other hand, has no teacher calling him, and he looks even more frustrated than Buttons.

"Spill. Now." He slams his hand on Spot's desk, and Spot can't help but flinch. "What's going on, Race?"

"It's nothing!" It comes out a little snappier than he intends, but he's not in the mood to play tug-of-war with Race's friends. "Leave me alone." He stands up, grabbing Race's bag and slinging it over his shoulders. He pushes past Albert, who follows behind him like an incessant chihuahua. 

"Race, Jesus Christ!" Albert groans, rubbing his hands down his freckled face. "Just tell me what's wrong! Is it me?"

Spot ignores him, fishing Race's phone out of his pocket when he hears it buzz. The caller ID reads _Oscar (DONT CALL)_ and he scowls, shoving it back into his pocket.

Unfortunately, Albert has already seen the screen, and he grabs Spot's arm, causing him to flinch again. "Is it Oscar? Is that why you're upset?"

Spot quickly tugs his arm free, glaring daggers at Albert. "No it's not Oscar, could you just piss off!"

"What's not me?" A voice asks from behind him, and Spot can see Albert visibly stiffen.

"I'll- leave you alone. Call me later, Race." Albert mumbles, clearly uncomfortable, before disappearing. Spot curses him under his breath before turning to see-

Oscar. Of course, obviously, who else would it be Oscar.

"Hey." He greets, and Spot bites back a scowl.

"What do you want."

Oscar seems taken aback by this, and he holds his hands up defensively. "What is your problem?" He asks, and his tone comes as a surprise to Spot. All the other times he'd spoken to Oscar- one time, the first day they'd swapped- He had been all smiles and warmth. This Oscar- was different, and for the first time Spot wonders if he should've asked Race why Oscar's caller ID had DONT CALL on it.

"What- no answer?" Oscar raises an eyebrow. Belatedly, Spot realizes he's been asked a question.

"I don't have a problem." He retorts, turning to leave. "Leave me alone."

"Hey!" Oscar grabs his wrist, tugging him towards him, and Spot panics.

"Don't touch me!" He can feel a familiar pressure building up in his stomach, a sensation he hasn't felt since he came to live with Medda.

He tugs his arm free from Oscar's grasp, breathing uneven. He hates this- hates the way he's reverting back to the scared child he was a year ago. He grips his arm tight to his chest, trying to calm his breathing.

Oscar apparently doesn't take the hint, stepping towards Spot. He stumbles backwards, almost losing his balance. 

"So that's it, huh?" Oscar asks, voice cold. He takes another step forward and Spot's breath hitches, hands curling into fists at his sides. He feels hot and cold and _wrong._ Even though he's in Race's body, his knee aches at the reminder, a ghost pain of a past injury.

"Stop." He says, but his voice wavers.

"So you're just going to toss me aside like everyone else you've ever dated?" Oscar's volume rises, and he's almost shouting at this point. Spot flinches, stepping back again.

"Stop!" He repeats, breaths coming quicker, his chest feels tight, and he reaches a hand up as if that would help.

"No wonder people say all those things about you." Oscar spits, and Spot's arms instinctively go up to protect his face.

"You fucking whore!"

Spot freezes at that, hands clenching into fists. That's new. He slowly lowers his arms, taking in Oscar's angry face. _Oscar._ Not his father, not anyone else. And it's not him Oscar is degrading.

It's _Race._

His panic turns to sudden anger, and something inside him snaps. Before he quite realizes what he's doing, he's got Oscar pinned on the ground. His fist connects with Oscar's nose, and something cracks. He doesn't stop though, not even when Oscar's hands frantically scrabble at his chest, or when he manages to get a punch- a flailing of the hand, really- in Spot's face, making his eyes water.

The only thing that gets him to stop is someone grabbing him from behind. Race's body- because that's what he's in right now, Race's body- is much lighter than his own, and is easily restrained, no matter how much Spot struggles.

"What the hell do you think you boys are doing?" A voice yells, and Spot's mind clears enough to realize they've gathered a small crowd. He also realizes his nose is bleeding, and he grimaces, trying to wipe the blood away.

"He just attacked me!" Oscar whines, picking himself off the ground. His eye is swollen and his nose bleeding, but other than that he seems fine. Shame.

The teacher- because that's who the voice belonged to, a teacher- marches over to where Spot is being restrained, leaning way too close for comfort. Spot's chest heaves, and he tries to get his breathing level. It doesn't work, and now he's hyperventilating, struggling against the arms restraining him.

"You." The teacher grinds out, squinting his eyes at Spot. "Principal's office. Now."

Yeah, today was shaping up to be an absolutely wonderful day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D Thanks for reading! Hope you guys have a wonderful day!!


	8. Wednesday, December 25th, 20XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: does intensive research on dog tags, panic attacks, bullet wounds, weather patterns, etc  
> Also me: forgets that December 25th is a holiday every single year and also American schools take two weeks off for it.
> 
> So uh- Christmas doesn't exist in this universe! Sorry!

Race wakes up to a damp pillow case and a dull throbbing in his knee and his hand clamped around cool metal, and for a second he's very disoriented.

But then he shifts to his back, and the dim glow stars on the ceiling ground him, enough to realize he's in Spot's body. He sits up, letting his covers pool around his waist. The cold metal digging into his hand reveals itself to be a dog tag. Race doesn't recall ever seeing it before, but it doesn't seem very new. Squinting in the dim light, he reads the name printed on the side.

_Conlon, Angelie E. ___

__He runs his fingers along the raised letters, breath catching in his throat. Spot's mom?_ _

__His thoughts are interrupted by a soft knock on the door, and he quickly wipes the tears from his eyes._ _

__"Yeah?" He manages. Smalls pokes her head in, a solemn expression on her face._ _

__"Ready to go?"_ _

__Race glances at the alarm clock situated on Spot's bedside table. He's late for school- very late for school, but he gets the feeling that's not what Smalls is talking about._ _

__"Give me a minute." He mumbles, hand still wrapped around the dog tag. Smalls' eyes dart downwards, and her small smile seems even tenser now._ _

__"I'll be downstairs." She closes the door behind her, and Race stands up, wincing at the pain in his knee. He quickly grabs Spot's knee brace, slipping it on and popping open his pill bottle. He swallows two pills dry, wincing at the bitter taste._ _

__Smalls is waiting in the living room when he makes his way downstairs, sitting crosslegged on the couch. She glances up when he enters the room, pushing herself off of the couch. "Jack said he'd drive us."_ _

__Race nods, subconsciously grabbing the dog tag around his throat. He follows Spot's sister out of the house and to Jack's car, where she silently slides into the backseat. Race instead opts for the passenger's seat, buckling his seatbelt._ _

__"You good?" Jack asks quietly when he gets settled, and Race startles slightly. It's strange, to have everyone tiptoeing around him._ _

__He gives Jack a nod, which is apparently enough to satisfy him. He starts the car, and Race fidgets. He was never good with car rides, and the heavy silence makes it even worse. His hands automatically go to the dog tag around his neck._ _

__The birth date on the tag was too old to be a sibling. The most logical choice- the only one, really- was that it had belonged to Spot's mother. Sliding the tag on its chain, Race frowns. He wasn't exactly an expert on the military, but didn't dog tags usually come in pairs?_ _

__"Spot, you're gonna break it." Jack says softly, reaching a hand over to cup Race's. He doesn't take his eyes off the road, and Race is grateful for that._ _

__"Sorry." He mumbles, dropping his hand. Jack smiles faintly, returning his own hand to the steering wheel._ _

__"It's fine. I just know how much that means to you."_ _

__In the backseat, Smalls gives a small huff. Her reflection in the rearview mirror isn't exactly a happy one, and Race winces, wringing his hands together._ _

__The awkward silence lasts until the car stops, and Race is grateful to finally be free of the oppressing atmosphere of the car. He unbuckles his seatbelt, pushing the door open._ _

__His breath hitches when he sees where they are, but in all honesty, he's not surprised. It adds up- the dog tag, how tense Smalls gets whenever someone mentions their mother, how Race woke up with tears in his eyes._ _

__Smalls comes around the back of the car and slips her hand in his, and together they walk through the gates of the New York Public Cemetery._ _

__He lets Smalls lead him, too busy looking around to even try to locate their mother's grave._ _

__When Smalls finally comes to a stop, he almost bumps into her, too preoccupied with his surroundings. She lets out a small hiss, pulling her arm away from him. Race doesn't mind though, too focused on the headstone in front of him._ _

_Angelie Conlon_

_Beloved mother, dedicated soldier_

__Smalls shoves her hands into her pockets, kicking at a pebble on the ground and all together avoiding looking at the grave. "Hey mom." She says quietly, confirming Race's suspicion. "It's been a while, hasn't it?" She crouches down, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet. "We got a new foster home now. I'm- not sure how I feel about it. Spot seems to like it though." She shoots a look at Race, and he scowls._ _

__"Smalls, I'm right here." He crouches down next to Spot's sister, still kind of feeling like he's imposing on a private moment. It's not him that's supposed to be here, after all. "Well uh- I've been doing well in school." He offers, nervously dragging the dog tag on its chain. "As well as I could be, that is." He grimaces._ _

__"Me too." Smalls adds. "I managed to pass Algebra, are you proud? Jack- he's one of the other foster kids- he's been helping me a lot." She wrings her hands together, biting her bottom lip. Her tone is light, but to Race it seems as if she's about to cry at any second. "I- I really miss you..." She chokes out._ _

__And then the tears start falling._ _

__Race panics- because again, he's not supposed to be here- patting down Spot's pockets to see if he has a tissue or anything. He doesn't, because Spot is a useless shit, and instead settles on giving Smalls a few hesitant pats on the back. "I'll- leave you alone?" He offers, shooting to his feet. Smalls doesn't give much of a response, only a sniffle, which Race takes as a go ahead, awkwardly inching away._ _

__Once he's out of ear range he sighs, almost collapsing to the ground. He pulls out Spot's phone with shaking hands. Spot hadn't called at all, something that shocked him. Surely he could have at least _warned_ Race that today was the anniversary of his mother's death, instead of leaving him to flounder alone._ _

He quickly finds his contact- which Spot has named _Dumbass_ , which hurts Race at first before he realizes his contact is the only one with an actual nickname- and hits the call button. It's almost four, so Spot should be done with school and dance already, so he should answer quickly.

__As Race predicted, he picks up on the third ring. What Race doesn't predict, however, is what Spot says next._ _

_"I got you suspended and I think your boyfriend hates me."_ He blurts, in a tone that sounds almost nervous, which is very unbecoming of THE Spot Conlon.

__"I'm sorry, what?" Race wrinkles his eyebrows, because that's way too much to unpack all at once._ _

_"I uh- I got into a fight. With Oscar. At school. You've been suspended until after the break."_ He definitely wasn't imagining it- Spot sounded nervous.

__Race grimaces, running a hand through Spot's silky hair. "Huh. Did you at least get him good?"_ _

There's a stretch of silence on the other end, and then Spot's voice, sounding more bewildered than Race has ever heard him before. _"What?"_

__"Oscar." He clarifies. "Did you get him good?"_ _

_"I think I broke his nose, shouldn't you be mad at me?"_

__Race sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "We were taking a break." He half-rolls his eyes. "Because he called me a cheater and a slut for hanging out with Albert over him."_ _

_"Ah."_ Spot says. _"I'm glad I broke his nose then."_

__Race laughs, shifting the phone to his left hand. "Hey Spot- are you okay? I'm- with Smalls now. At-"_ _

_"I'm fine."_ Spot cuts him off. _"It just. Hurts to not be there."_ It's the closest they've gotten to a deep conversation- the first real glimpse into Spot's true feelings.

__"Yeah. I understand that." He says quietly, glancing back towards Smalls. "I could get Smalls to leave for a while so you can talk to your mom?" He offers, running his hand through Spot's hair again._ _

_There's another long pause before Spot speaks again. _"I'd like that."__

__

__Race nods, making his way back over to Smalls. She glances up when he approaches, offering him a weak smile. "I'll be in the car." She says quietly, rubbing at her eyes before standing up. He nods to acknowledge her statement, watching her leave before pulling his phone back out of his pocket._ _

__"Hi Ms. Conlon. This might be confusing but- I'm not actually Spot. But I brought him here so he can talk to you." He glances down at his phone. "Spot, do you want me to leave?"_ _

_"You can stay."_ Spot says after a long pause, and Race gives a small smile- although neither Spot nor his mother can see him- kneeling on the damp grass.

_"Hey mom."_ Spot says after a short pause, and Race can almost picture him running his hand through his hair in the way Race often feels inclined to do when in Spot's body. _"It's been a while, hasn't it? Lots of things have happened, I don't really know where to start."_ He laughs breathily, and Race can hear the creak of springs as he sits on Race's bed. _"Smalls probably already told you all about Medda and Jack and Mike and Ike and Boots. They're- nice. Nicer than our other foster families, at least."_ He laughs again- a real laugh this time- and Race can't help but smile, leaning closer. _"Actually- you're probably wondering about Race. Well, for some reason we started switching bodies- how long ago?"_

__"Three weeks." Race supplies._ _

_"Yeah, three weeks-ish. It's totally weird, but he's kinda cool I guess."_

__Race huffs at that, crossing his arms. "Wow, how flattering of you." He pictures Spot rolling his eyes and is rewarded by another laugh._ _

_"Shut up, idiot."_

__"Spot!" Jack calls from the car, and Race jumps to his feet. "Ready to go?"_ _

Race shoots a glance at his phone. Through the line, Spot sighs. _"I'll come visit you tomorrow, mom."_ Race takes that as his cue to pick his phone up, clicking out of speaker mode. 

__He mumbles a quick "It was nice to meet you" to Spot's mother's grave before turning away, putting the phone to his ear._ _

__"You good Spottie?" He asks softly, making his way slowly back to the car._ _

Spot sighs heavily and the springs creak again. _"Take Smalls out for ice cream. It's a tradition. Order her superman and get a cherry for yourself."_ He's avoiding the question, but Race doesn't really get a chance to question him, too close to the car to be able to talk any more. He hangs up, tucking his phone into his pocket.

__"Ready to go?" Jack asks softly, putting his hand on Race's shoulder. Race offers him a small smile and a nod before slipping into the backseat next to Smalls._ _

__"Hey." She glances up at the sound of his voice, rubbing her eyes._ _

__"Hey." She echoes._ _

__Race fiddles with the dog tag around his neck. "Wanna grab some ice cream?"_ _

__A small smile crosses Smalls' face, and she elbows his side. "You're paying."_ _

__Race laughs at that, ruffling her hair. "You're gonna run me dry, Smalls." He catches Jack's eye in the front seat before the older boy quickly looks away, and he smiles._ _

__It's nice Spot has such a caring family._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you guys are staying safe and doing well!! Have a great day! ^-^


	9. Thursday, December 26th, 20XX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Sorry this took so long, thank you for waiting!! Hope you enjoy! :)

Race wakes up to the sound of curtains being pulls back and a bright light shining in his eyes and he groans, bringing his arm up to cover his eyes. His face hurts like hell, and he winces as his hand brushes up against a sore spot.

"Eduardo. Get up." His father's cold voice is the first thing he resisters, followed by the stern look on his face when he finally manages to open his eyes. He immidiately snaps upright, hands bunching in the fabric of his sheets.

Antonio Senior was a formidable man. There was no doubt about it. It was one of the things that made him such a great business leader, and such a bad father.

"I heard you got into a fight." He says, because of course he had only heard about it now. He was much too busy to bother with the affairs of his many children.

Race doesn't say anything- shouldn't say anything. He'll only dig the hole Spot had buried him in even deeper.

"Answer me." His father snaps, and Race jerks his head up. "You got into a fight, yes?"

Race nods hesitantly before clearing his throat. "Yes."

"And why was that?"

He scowls, bunching his sheet between his fists. He doesn't have an answer to his father's question- He wasn't the one who got into the fight anyways.

"Eduardo. Look at me when I'm talking." Race hesitantly drags his gaze up, wincing at his father's stern expression. He was mad. Very mad.

"Why did you get into a fight?" He asks again, more forcefully this time. 

"He insulted me." Race finally answers, tongue heavy in his mouth.

His father exhales loudly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. _"Dio Santo, Eduardo,_ will you ever learn?"

Race fights back a scowl, embarrassment stirring in his stomach. He hated it when he father ignored him, but he hated it even more when he scolded him. "Sorry..." He mutters, ducking his head.

"Louder."

"I am sorry for my actions." He repeats, lifting his head and trying his hardest not to scowl. "I won't do it again."

His father gives a little sigh, and Race relaxes, knowing that the worst of it is over.

"Your grandmother is flying in." Race glances up at that, meeting his father's eyes. "Earlier than usual, I mean. She'll be the one taking care of you during your-" He wrinkles his nose. "Suspension. Don't get into too much trouble."

With that, he's gone, leaving Race more exhausted than he'd been last night. He groans, rubbing his hands over his face and flopping back down on the bed. Normally he'd be in school right now, seeing as it was a Thursday, but apparently fate- and Spot Conlon- had other plans for him. He winces, poking one of his bruises.

"Jesus Christ, Oscar can really hit, huh." He groans, letting his arm fall to cover his eyes.

He's only allowed a few seconds of rest before a heavy weight falls on him, knocking all the air out of his lungs.

"Tonio!" A voice calls, and he quickly sits up, pushing the weight off his chest.

"Maria, what did I say about jumping on top of me?" He wheezes out, rubbing his chest gingerly.

"Sorry." His little sister pouts, sticking her bottom lip out. He can never stay mad at her for long though, and he gently pats her head.

"What's up?" He asks, ruffling her hairs slightly. She wrinkles her nose up, batting his hand away before answering.

"You really got into a fight?" She asks in an excited voice, leaning closer to him. He can practically see the sparkles in her eyes, and he internally groans.

"It's not a good thing, Mar." He quickly finds his glasses on his bedside table, slipping them on his face. "Violence is never the answer."

She groans, bouncing her weight on the bed and making the springs creak. "Don't be such a downer, Tonio. You're almost as bad Angelo!"

Race rolls his eyes, gently prying Maria's hands off his arm. "Just because Angelo won't let you drive his car because- let me remind you- you're seven years old- doesn't mean he's a downer. In fact that makes him a good brother. Now get out of my room."

Maria pouts again but obliges, slamming the door shut behind her. Race sighs, flopping back down on his bed.

Today was going to be absolutely awful.

He feels around for his phone a bit, too lazy to get up and actually search for it. Once he finds it he sends a quick text to Albert, although he doesn't receive a response.

"Stupid Albert." He mumbles, scrolling through his contacts. His finger pauses on Spot's, adorned with several hearts and kissy emoticons. Because Spot would hate that, of course. No other reason.

He flips over onto his stomach, cupping one cheek in his palm. To call, or not to call. That is the question.

He ends up pressing the call button, letting a grin creep onto his face. It was Spot's fault, in the first place, so it was Spot's duty to keep him entertained.

Spot however, doesn't seem to realize that, because no one picks up the phone. Race scowls, rolling off the bed.

"Stupid Spot." He grumbles, rubbing his back and picking himself off the floor. He sends Spot a string of teary-eyed emojis before tossing his phone onto his bed and opening his closet, rifling through his clothes to find the right outfit for today.

Once he's dressed, he picks his phone up again, checking the home screen.

Nothing.

"Stupid Spot." He grumbles, shoving it into his pocket where he'll be able to feel if he gets a response.

He makes his way into the living room, stretching his arms above his head. He's pretty sore- probably from the fight- but he's used to being sore so it doesn't nearly bother him as much as it probably should.

"Yo!" Romeo greets from his usual spot on the couch, a bowl of cereal balanced on his lap. He waves at Race with his spoon, before pointing to the kitchen. "I left you some Lucky Charms, if you'd like."

Race grunts in acknowledgement, making his way into the kitchen to pour himself a bowl of cereal. He grabs the milk from the refrigerator, pouring it with a yawn. "Anything good on?" He asks, tilting his head so he can see the TV.

Romeo hums, shaking his head. "Not unless you like Cutthroat Kitchen."

Shoving the milk back into the fridge, Race makes his way to the couch, sitting next to Romeo. "Good enough, y'know?"

Romeo gives a silent shrug, eyes darting between the TV and Race. Race can tell he wants to say something- probably to ask about the fight- and he's glad Romeo has enough common sense to not ask. 

Romeo finishes his cereal in silence, standing up once he's done. "I'll see you after school, then?" He offers, and Race gives him an absentminded nod.

"Yeah, sure. Have fun." He pulls his phone out again, checking the time. It's almost ten, and yet he still has no messages. He opens Spot's contact again, finger hovering over the call button. He hesitates, biting his lip, before clicking the message button instead.

_To Spottie <3 ^3^<3-  
Spottieeeeeeeeee entertain meeeeeeee _

There is- of course- no response, and he pouts, tossing a leg over the armrest of the couch.

Stupid Spot.

On the TV, the commercials roll. He suffers through two consecutive Outback commercials before turning the TV off with a suffering groan.

He kicks his legs up to the top of the couch, letting himself slump down until his head is touching the ground. It isn't very comfortable, but he's too lazy to move.

His phone pings with a notification, and he almost falls over, scrambling to grab it. He smiles slightly when he sees Albert's name on the screen, swiping to open his phone.

_Albo-  
How's suspended life? _

_To Albo-  
About as boring as you'd expect_

_To Albo-  
Anything interesting happen?_

_Albo-  
Oh yeah aliens invaded Johnson's class _

Race quirks a smile at that.

_To Albo-  
Bummer _

His phone buzzes again, this time a call notification. He's about to answer when he notices the abundance of emoticons next to the name.

Spot.

He buries his face into the couch, wincing at the pain the action causes. He's hesitating and he doesn't know why, so he quickly presses the answer button before he can think about it too much.

 _"Yo."_ Spot greets, and Race lifts his head, placing the phone against his ear.

"You're so mean, Spottie, I was waiting foreeeever."

He can almost hear Spot roll his eyes and he stifles a grin. _"Sorry, some of us have school and can't always be on our phone."_

Race gasps at that. The AUDACITY. "And who's fault is it that I'm not in school?" He fires back, and Spot goes silent. "Yeah. Exactly."

 _"How's your face?"_ Spot asks, at least sounding regretful. _"Did you get some ice for it?"_

"What are you, my mom?" Race rolls his eyes, pointedly ignoring the question. His cheek throbs, and he finally gives in, getting up and heading to the kitchen.

_"Fine then, I retract my worry. Die, for all I care."_

"Aw, Spottie, don't do this to me!" He says dramatically, opening the freezer and pulling out an ice pack. He hisses as it makes contact with his bruised skin, which apparently Spot picks up on. (Damn him.)

_"Did you seriously not think of putting ice on your wounds when you got up? Dumbass."_

"Look, I don't wanna hear that from the guy who put me in this situation in the first place!" Race points out, gesturing with the ice pack.

_"Look, I'm sorry, okay? It was wrong of me, and I feel bad about it. Can we stop bringing it up?"_

Race sighs, letting his hand drop to his side. "Fine. How are things on your end?"

Spot hums, as if in thought, before replying. _"Boring. Never thought Physics could get any more mind numbing but- here I am."_

Race laughs at that. "I think physics are interesting!" He defends, earning a scoff from Spot.

_"Yeah, 'cause you're a nerd who likes math 'n shit."_

Race raises an eyebrow. "I don't want to hear that from mister 'I own a telescope and can name all the constellations in the night sky'."

Spot scoffs at that. _"Okay fine. You got me there."_ There's a lapse of silence before he speaks again. _"Hydrids moved up."_

Race lifts his head. "The asteroid things?"

_"They're meteors, but yes. You're supposed to be able to see them on New Years Eve, now."_

Race hums. "Romantic."

 _"Sure, 'course you'd think that."_ He can almost hear Spot roll his eyes, and he smiles faintly. _"I, on the other hand, am not looking forward to it."_

"What? Why?"

_"Well, Miss Medda is going to be throwing a New Years party and of course I'm going to have to attend which means socialization which means I won't be able to see the Alpha Hydrids when they peak."_

"Ah. Sucks." Race hums, resting the ice pack against his cheek.

_"Massively. Hey, how in trouble are you?"_

"Why? Wanna sneak me out late at night for a hot date?" He teases, raising an eyebrow.

Spot huffs. _"Nevermind then. 'S what I get for being concerned about you, I guess."_

Race pouts. "Aw, Spottie, I like it when you're concerned about me! Don't be such a grouch."

_"'M not."_

"Oh, you definitely are." Race tosses himself back onto the sofa, wincing when the ice pack slams into his face. "It's okay. I think it's cute."

Spot huffs. _"Just tell me how badly they punished you for God's sake."_

Race sighs, waving a hand that Spot most definitely can't see in the air. "Oh y'know, the typical suspension until after the break, grounded until the foreseeable future, flying my grandmother in a week early."

Spot clicks his tongue. _"Damn. They're bringin' in the big guns huh."_

Race waves his hand- again, Spot can't see this, he doesn't know why he's doing it- "It's fine. She's chill. Surprising, considering how uptight my dad turned out, but hey!" He shrugs. "She also tells really great stories. About how our family is destined for great things and how fate connects us all, yknow?"

 _"Oh yeah, totally."_ Spot remarks in a deadpan voice, causing Race to pout. _"I totally know all about cosmic destiny and grandparents. Totally."_

"Why are you so meannnnnnnn." He wines, letting his head fall back against the armrest of the couch. "This is why you don't have friends, Spot Conlon."

_"So? Who needs friends. They disappoint me."_

Race sits upright, eyes widening. "Did you just quote a vine?"

_"A what?"_

"Did THE Spot Conlon just quote a vine?" He gasps incredulously.

 _"No Race, I did not. I don't even know what you're talking about."_ Spot sounds exasperated- tired even, so Race drops it, shaking his head.

"So what- are you skipping class to talk to me?" He half-teases, glancing at the clock on the side table.

_"Well, y'know. You wouldn't stop calling me, so..."_

Race gasps. "Aw, you do care!" He claps his other hand to his cheek, wincing when he hits his bruise. "Spottie, that's so sweet!"

 _"Yeah okay I'm hanging up now."_ Spot says, obviously embarrassed. 

Race grins, about to retort, but Spot follows through on his statement. He's met with the dull tone signal, and he sighs, hanging up.

_To Spottie <3 ^3^<3-  
Why Must You Hate Me Like This Brother _

_Spottie <3 ^3^<3-  
I'm not your brother, don't call me that, I need to go to class._

_Spottie <3 ^3^<3-  
Try not to do anything too stupid _

Race smiles faintly at that, clicking his phone off and letting it fall onto his chest. He feels giddy for some reason, hands moving up to cover his face. 

Spot Conlon was going to be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you have any questions or comments feel free to leave them down below, or contact me at silvercrane14 on Tumblr! Hope you all are staying safe and have a wonderful day!! ^-^

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Feel free to ask any questions you might have! Hope you have a wonderful day :D


End file.
